



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 




















SPOOKY HOLLOW 



CAROLYN WELLS’ 

Baffling detective stories in which Fleming Stone , 
the great American Detective , displays his re¬ 
markable ingenuity for unravelling mysteries 

FEATHERS LEFT AROUND 

THE MYSTERY GIRL 

THE MYSTERY OF THE 
SYCAMORE 

RASPBERRY JAM 

THE DIAMOND PIN 

VICKY VAN 

THE MARK OF CAIN 

THE CURVED BLADES 

THE WHITE ALLEY 

ANYBODY BUT ANNE 

THE MAXWELL MYSTERY 

A CHAIN OF EVIDENCE 

THE CLUE 

THE GOLD BAG 

PTOMAINE STREET 

A Rollicking Parody on a Famous Book. 





SPOOKY HOLLOW 

A FLEMING STONE STORY 



/ 


BY 


CAROLYN WELLS 

Author of “Vicky Van,” “ The Mystery Girl” etc. 



PHILADELPHIA AND LONDON 
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY 

1923 




\ 1 















COPYRIGHT, 1923, BY STREET AND SMITH CORPORATION 
COPYRIGHT, 1923, BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY 


( 

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PRINTED BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY 
AT THE WASHINGTON SQUARE PRESS 
PHILADELPHIA U. S. A. 


f) 

OCT 25 1923 V , 

C1A75956S5 » 


TO 

MY DEAR FRIEND 

JULIE STANIFORD 







• > 

V 




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CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. Prottt Has a Fare. 9 

II. The Guest at Greatlarch. 28 

III. Rosemary. 48 

IV. A Mysterious Death. 70 

V. Where was Johnson?. 89 

VI. The Wild Harp. 108 

VII. Uncle and Niece. 128 

VIII. Spooky Hollow. 147 

IX. A Living Tragedy. 167 

X. How Collins Felt About It. 187 

XI. A Run Over to France. 207 

XII. A Nameless, Homeless Waif. 227 

XIII. A Vincent After All. 246 

XIV. Fleming Stone on the Case. 266 

XV. A Few Deductions. 286 

XVI. Fibsy Explores. 306 

XVII. Finch’s Story. 326 

XVIII. The Terrible Truth. 346 
































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SPOOKY HOLLOW 


CHAPTER I 

PROUT HAS A FARE 

Our Pilgrim band of stern and rock-bound fore¬ 
fathers left us a goodly heritage in New England. 
And, even though we may not still in awed tones 
call it holy ground, yet the soil where first they 
trod calls forth a certain respect and admiration not 
compelled by any other group of these United States. 

To be sure they didn’t tread all of it. Lots and 
lots of square miles of ground and lofty soil are 
still untrodden to any great extent, especially the 

northern parts of the northern states. 

Maine, with its great, beautiful Aroostook 

County, whose far-flung potato farms have a charm 
all their own, and whose glistening white farm¬ 
houses have their barns hitched on behind like 
majestic trains of cars—the exquisite tidiness of 
Maine as a state far outranks all her twelve origi¬ 
nal sisters. 


s 


10 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


In New Hampshire the white paint is less im¬ 
maculate, the state less tidily cleared up, but the 
woods against a stormy sky their giant branches 
toss, and the rocking pines of the forest roar their 

r 

eternal welcome. Timid little lakes nestle confidingly 
among the hills and the White Mountains cluster in 
majestic serenity. 

And then comes Vermont, beautiful, careless 
Vermont, forgetful of her white paint, heedless of 
her broken-down fences, conscious only of her green 
Green Mountains and the sounding aisles of her 
dim woods. 

East of the Green Mountain Range, in northern 
Vermont, is wide, rolling country, with here and 
there a handful of small hills dumped down as 
though they had been flung at the Range and fell 
short of their mark. Among them are valleys and 
lakes, vistas and scenery, verdure and foliage,—all 
that goes to make Vermont what her beautiful 
name means. 

And villages. These are not always as pic¬ 
turesque as they should be, but man’s place in nature 
is frequently out of harmony with his surroundings. 

What should be a quaint little hamlet with an old 
white-spired church and a few clustering cottages, 


PROUT HAS A FARE 11 

is more often a Four Corners or a few rods or 
perches of a stupid-looking Main Street, totally 
lacking in pride, prosperity, or paint. 

Farm-houses are shabby and fences dilapidated, 
yet, after all, there are sites and spots—oh, the sites 
and spots of Vermont! 

If one wanted to build ten thousand homes, he 
could find a satisfying site or spot for each and 
have as many left over. 

In our forefathers’ days, the soil where first they 
trod was considered the very thing for highroads, 
but now the broad white ribbon of concrete that 
tangles itself among the green hills is exceedingly 
convenient, without marring the picture. 

And the towns that chance to impinge on or 
straddle that road are up to date and almost a part 
of the living, bustling world outside. 

But the towns reached by the lesser roads, the 
older roads,—they have no animal spirits and lead 
a mere vegetable life. 

Unless a great country house has been built on 
a site or a spot nearby, these little villages have none 
at all to praise and very few to love. 

Hilldale was one of the prettiest of these villages 
and was in fairly good repair. This was owing to 


12 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


the fact that it had offered an unsurpassed site for a 
gentleman’s country house. 

The gentleman had materialized, and so, later, 
did the house. 

It had happened forty years ago. Vicissitudes 
had removed the gentleman but the house remained— 
remained empty for years, and at last, five years ago, 
had been bought, furnished, and occupied. 

Yet the fact of the house, half a mile from the 
village street, so influenced and stimulated the vil¬ 
lagers that unconsciously they lived up to it and 
gloried in its possession as in an invisible jewel 
held in trust. 

For the house was invisible, by reason of those 
same dim woods and rocking pines, and moreover, 
because of high and strong stone walls. 

Yet it was there and it was theirs, so Hilldale 
plumed itself and went about its business. 

Off the main travelled road of traffic, it was also 
off the main line of the railroad and was reached 
by a tiny spur, whose trains, not impressed by the 
great house, ran with a debonair disregard of time¬ 
tables or schedules. 

And so, when one of these trains pulled up with 
a grinding jerk, and the leisurely, easy-going con- 





PROUT HAS A FARE 


13 


ductor sang out, “ Hilldale! ” John Haydock, who 
had risen, almost fell over backward by reason of 
the sudden stop. 

The train was nearly an hour late, and though 
still well up in the heavens, the November sun was 
secretly preparing for a quick swoop down and out. 
The air was damp and raw, with a feeling that 
portended snow. 

Beautiful Vermont had lost her green, but was 
bravely substituting a glory of red and russet and 
gold that clad her hills and dales with a blaze of 
autumn beauty. 

John Haydock shivered as he stepped to the sta¬ 
tion platform, then drew up his overcoat collar, and 
appreciatively lapped up the beauty of the scene even 
while he looked about at conditions. 

He saw a phlegmatic looking man standing near 
an elderly Ford, and with admirable sagacity deduced 
a local taxi driver. 

“ I want to go to Homer Vincent’s,” Haydock 
said, half expecting the man would drawl out 
“ Wal, why don’t ye, then?” after the approved 
manner of Vermont natives in fiction. 

But the influence of the house wouldn’t allow 
that, and the man merely gave a sort of grunt that 
seemed to mean “ All right,” or “ Certainly.” 





14 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 




Moreover, he showed a gleam of curiosity in his 
hard, weather-beaten blue eyes, and moved with 
alacrity as he took the stranger’s bag. 

But he said nothing as he held the car door open 
for his passenger, and then took his own place at 
the wheel. 

“ Is it far from the village? ” Haydock asked. 

The driver rolled a blue eye around at him. 

“ Ain’t never been there, eh? ” he said. “ Well, 
it’s about halfa mile,—good halfa mile. I ain’t 
never been in the house myself. Druv up to 
the entrance now, naginn,—just now, naginn. 
Great place! ” 

He spoke in an awe-struck voice, as one might 
of some masterpiece of God or man, and Haydock 
said, involuntarily: 

“ Is it such a beautiful house? ” 

“ Is it? Is it! Well, you’ll soon see! ” 

They had left the village now, and were passing 
along a wooded country road, beautiful with its pines 
and hemlocks among the bright autumn leaves. A 
few roads branched to right or left, but the Ford 
car clattered straight ahead. 

“Mr. Vincent get over his broken leg?” Hay¬ 
dock asked. “ Can he walk all right? ” 

Yep, mostly. Has a little limp—you’d hardly 


u 




PROUT HAS A FARE 15 

notice it, though. Course we don’t see him 
hardly ever.” 

“ Recluse?” 

“ Not quite that,—but sticks to his home mostly. 
Miss Vincent, now, she’s more sociably inclined.” 

“ Miss Rosemary? ” 

“ Well, no, I didn’t mean her,—I meant the old 
lady,—Mr. Vincent’s sister. Miss Rosemary, now, 
she’s here, there, and everywhere. Ridin’ a horse, 
drivin’ a car, walkin’, skatin’ and they do say they’re 
goin’ to keep an airoplane.” 

“ Really? How up to date they are.” 

“ Well, they are, an’ they ain’t. Yes, sir, they 
are, ’n’ they ain’t. The old man, now—” 

“ Why do you call Mr. Homer Vincent an 
old man? ” 

“Thasso. He can’t be mor’n fifty,—’n’ yet, he 
somehow seems old.” 

“ To look at? ” 

“Well, no; though ’s I said, I don’t often see 
him. But if he’s passin’ in his motor car, he don’t 
look out an’ nod at people,—see, an’ he don’t seem 
to be smilin’—” 

“ Grumpy? ” 

4 

“ Not so much that as—” 

“Indifferent? Preoccupied?” 





16 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


“ That’s more like it. Thinkin’ ’bout his own 
affairs, seemin’ly. An’ they do say he does himself 
mighty well. And why shouldn’t he,—seein’s he has 
plenty of money. Why shouldn’t he, I say? ” 

“ Is he married? ” 

The driver turned fully around, leaving the tem¬ 
peramental Ford to its own sweet will for a moment. 

“ Homer Vincent married! ” he exclaimed. “ I 
should say not! Him married! ” 

“What’s so strange about that? Lots of men 
marry.” 

“ So they do. Oh, well,—no, Mr. Vincent, he 
ain’t married.” 

“ What does he do ? Any business ? ” 

“Land, no; he’s got more money’n he knows 
what to do with. He just enjoys himself, one way 
’n’ another,—just one way ’n’ another. Miss Vin¬ 
cent, now, Miss Anne, she rides about, stylish like, 
an’ makes fashionable calls on the minister an’ a 
few families of the town. They been here hve years 
now, an’ yet mighty few people knows ’em atall.” 

“He didn’t build his fine house ?” 

“ Land, no. It was built long ago, by a man 
named Lamont,—long about eighteen-eighty it was 
begun. Took years to build it, o’ course.” 

“ Is it so elaborate, then? ” 




PROUT HAS A FARE 


17 


“ Is it? Look, here’s the beginnin’ of the stone 
wall now. See ? ” 

“Good heavens, what a wall!” and Haydock 
stared at the high, massive, tessellated structure of 
carefully hewn and laid blue dolomite, that seemed 
to extend interminably. 

“ Yep, that’s it,” and the speaker wagged his 
head in deep pride of ownership. For Hilldale felt 
that it owned the place individually as well as collec¬ 
tively ; and this in utter disregard of any opinion Mr. 
Vincent might hold on the matter. 

“ He’s an inventor, you know,” Haydock was 
further informed, as they neared the gates. “ But I 
don’t think he invents anything.” 

The great iron gates stood open but gave access 
only to a long avenue shaded by almost perfect speci¬ 
mens of the beautiful “ wine-glass ” elm. 

“ That kinda ellum tree’s just about gone now,” 
—said Haydock’s guide. “ Mighty few left in all 
New England. Fine ones, these. Now, here begins 
the poplar row. See’m,—not Lombardy,—they’re 
North Carolina poplars. I guess Mr. Vincent set 
these out. They ain’t long-lived. Well, here we 
come to the wooded drive. The rest of the way to 
the house is right through a jungle. I’d hate it.” 

The jungle was a grove, rather sparse than thick, 
2 


18 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


of pine, spruce, hemlock, and larch, and its shadows 
were dank and black. 

An occasional white birch, slender and ghostly, 
instead of lightening the gloom, rather added to it, 
and the rays of the now setting sun could scarcely 
penetrate the murk. 

“ Not very cheerful,” was Haydock’s comment. 

• “ Now, here, sir, is the tree that gives the place 
its name.” 

“ What is its name ? ” 

“ Greatlarch,—that’s what they call it, Great- 
larch,—’count o’ that big tree there. See? ” 

Haydock looked and saw the tallest larch tree 
he had ever seen. It was enormous, a most magnifi¬ 
cent specimen. Surely the name was well chosen. 

“ That’s a hummer,” he agreed. 

\ “Yep; nothin’ like in these parts,—an’ I don’t 
believe, nowhere.” 

“ I don’t either! ” said Haydock, regardless of 
negatives in his enthusiasm. 

“ Now, you see, sir, we come to the entrance 
proper. This stone gateway’s where I leave you. 
Want me to wait? ” 

“ No,” and Haydock dropped his sociable man- 


PROUT HAS A FARE 


19 


ner and became again a stranger. “ What do I 
owe you? ” 

“ One dollar, sir. Don’t want me to wait? You 
stayin’ here? ” 

Haydock looked at him. 

“I’m not sure just what I shall do. Have you 
a telephone ? ” 

“ Yes, sir; call 87 Hilldale.” 

“ And your name? ” 

“ Prout. Mr. Vincent knows me. Tell him you 
want Prout,—that is, if you do want me. To take 
you back,—you know.” 

“ Yes, I gathered that was what you meant. 
Good day, Prout.” 

The entrance was a massive arch with a tower on 
either side. 

It seemed to include guard-rooms and connected 
with what was doubtless a porter’s lodge. 

Haydock stared at the heavy stone-work, the 
beautiful design, and the hint of green velvety lawn 
through the arch. 

He wished the daylight would linger, but it was 
even now almost gone. The gathering dusk gave 
the scene an eerie aspect, the great larch whispered 






20 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


as its long branches slowly tossed about, and the 
pines responded with a murmur of their own. 

Seeing no one, Haydock stepped through the 
deep, wide archway, and then stood still, spellbound 
at what he saw. 

A pile of gray stone, red-tiled roofs, tall chim¬ 
neys, towers, turrets, dormers,—a perfect example 
of a French chateau of the period of the Renaissance. 

Haydock knew enough of architecture to realize 
that he was gazing at a masterpiece. He had no 
idea there was such a building in America. Perfect 
in every detail, exquisitely set in the midst of rolling 
lawns, well-placed shrubbery, and noble old trees, 
with half glimpses, in the fading light, of terraces 
and gardens beyond. 

Deeply impressed, he approached the entrance, a 
recessed portico on the north side of the house. 

Outer doors of massive oak stood open, and he 
entered a vestibule wainscoted and paved with 
richly hued marble. 

Wrapt in contemplation of the detail work, he 
pushed an electric bell, and was still unheeding when 
the door opened and a butler faced him inquiringly. 

He felt a slight thrill of disappointment, for, 
without knowing it, he had subconsciously looked for 


PROUT HAS A FARE 


21 


a lackey in gold lace or at least a powdered and 
plushed footman. 

But this man, beyond all question a butler, and a 
knowing one, gave Haydock an appraising glance, 
- and in a tone nicely poised between deference and 
inquiry, said: 

“You wish to see—” The voice trailed off to 
nothingness, but the barrier form of the butler gave 
way no inch of vantage. 

“ Mr. Homer Vincent,” said Haydock, sud¬ 
denly recovering his wits, and speaking with a 
firm decision. 

“By appointment?” But the severity of the 
butler’s manner perceptibly decreased and he even 
stepped back from the threshold. 

“ No, not by appointment,” and John Haydock 
came under the portal and into the beautiful entrance 
hall. Again he was nearly swept off his feet by what 
he saw. Marble avails and floors, painted friezes, 
vistas of rooms opening one from another—surely 
he was transported to some Arabian Nights’ Dream. 

And again he was recalled to equanimity by that 
calm, cool voice: 

“ What name shall I give Mr. Vincent? ” 


22 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


And after the merest instant of hesitation, 
Haydock said: 

“ Tell him Henry Johnson wishes to see him,— 
on business, private, personal, and important.” 

This speech was accompanied by a straight, 
sharp glance at the man, and the visitor, half- 
turning, began to give himself up to contemplation 
of his surroundings. 

“ Yes, sir. Will you step in the reception 
room, sir ? ” 

The reception room, in a large circular tower, 
was at the right as one entered the house, and to 
this Haydock went. 

The butler disappeared, and Haydock studied 
the room. 

It was of the period known as Perpendicular 
Gothic, and the side walls, delicatedly paneled 
in old oak, reached to the richly ornamented and 
domed ceiling. 

The chimney-piece, which curved with the cir¬ 
cular wall of the room, was of the rare Italian mar¬ 
ble known as Red of Vecchiano, and it was Hay- 
dock’s study of this that was interrupted by the 
entrance of his host. 

“You like it?” Homer Vincent said in a tone 




PROUT HAS A FARE 


23 


of slight amusement. “ It is the only bit of that 
stone ever brought to this country.” 

Turning, Haydock saw a moderately tall man 
with moderately broad shoulders. His hands were 
in his pockets, and the smile that had sounded in 
his voice was perceptible on his strong, well-cut lips. 

He stood erect, his head thrown a trifle back, as 
if sizing up the situation. 

“ If you like, I’ll show you the whole house,” 
he offered. “ It’s worth seeing.” 

And now, Haydock looked at him as if sizing 
him up. Seemingly he had forgotten the house in 
his interest in its owner. 

He saw a strong face, which, though now smil¬ 
ing with courtesy, yet looked as if, on occasion, it 
could be hard, even severe. 

This may have been imagination, for Homer 
Vincent’s whole manner and attitude betokened only 
a friendly welcome. 

But Haydock noted the firm curve of the chin, 
the straight line of the lips, and the haughty, aristo¬ 
cratic effect of the Roman nose, and concluded, off¬ 
hand, that Homer Vincent was a power. 

The dark hair was thickly streaked with gray, 
and the deep-set gray eyes were of a peculiar pene- 




24 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


tration. And yet, important though the man doubt¬ 
less was, he had an air of indolence, of impatience 
under annoyance, that was unmistakable and impos¬ 
sible to ignore. 

“ Well,” he said, shortly, “ well, Mr. Henry 
Johnson, what do you want to see me about? ” 

With a cautionary glance out through the door¬ 
way, Hay dock leaned toward him and whispered 
two words in his ear. 

Vincent permitted himself a slight raising of the 
eyebrows,—an unusual concession to interest 
or surprise. 

“ You do right to be discreet,” he said; “ let us 
go to my own private room,—it is just across 
the hall.” 

He led the guest across toward the circular room 
in the opposite turret, corresponding with the 
reception room. 

And this time Haydock couldn’t restrain his 
exclamations. 

“ Let the business wait a few moments,” said 
Vincent, almost gleefully. “ I admit I am proud 
of my home; let me show you a little of it. 

“ You see, it was built many years ago by one 
Lamont, an eccentric millionaire. It is an exact copy 



PROUT HAS A FARE 


25 


of one of the finest of the French chateaux. More¬ 
over, it is built of the most magnificent marbles ever 
perhaps collected under one roof. Just the walls 
of this hall show French Griotte, Porte Venere, 
Verde Martin, and here you see American Black,— 
from Glens Falls. The floor is Morial marble from 
Lake Champlain. 

“ Ahead of you, looking toward the back of the 
house, you see the Atrium, copied faithfully from 
the Erectheum at Athens. We will not go there 
now,—nor to the Organ wing, where I have one of 
the largest and finest pipe organs in the world. We 
will go now into my own private room, and you 
shall tell me all about this matter you speak of.” 

They crossed the hall, Haydock scarce able to 
tear his eyes from the cabinets, paintings, and rare 
pieces of furniture. The tall chimney-piece of the 
hall, Vincent said, was of Bois de Orient marble 
from Africa. 

“ Why all these rare marbles? ” Haydock cried. 

“ It was Lamont’s fad,” Vincent replied. “ And 
I’m glad he did it, for it saved my having to collect 
them. I bought the place complete, though totally 
unfurnished. It has been my pleasure to collect 
suitable furnishings and I have enjoyed the task.” 



26 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


“ I should say so! ” and Haydock stared about 
the room they entered, which was Vincent’s 
very own. 

Circular in form, it was finished in rare woods 
with a mantel of Siena marble and bronze, which 
showed figures of Hercules in statuary marble. The 
furniture, while not over-ornate, was in keeping with 
the character of the room. In the center was a 
great flat-topped desk, carved and inlaid, and at this 
the two men sat down. 

It was after an hour’s conversation that Vincent 
said: “ I will send for my sister,—we must consult 
with her.” 

A bell brought the imperturbable, yet eagerly 
solicitous butler, whose name, Haydock now learned, 
was Mellish. 

“Go to Miss Anne,” Vincent directed; “ask 
her to join me here if she will be so good. Tell her 
I have a caller here. And, by the way, Mr. Johnson, 
will you not stay the night ? Then we can talk at our 
leisure and, also, I can show you over the house 

* 

which I feel sure will interest you.” 

Haydock looked at his host questioningly, de¬ 
cided he meant his invitation sincerely, and accepted. 






PROUT HAS A FARE 


27 


“ But I have no evening togs with me,” he 
demurred. 

“ No matter, we will be informal. I am myself 
not overly given to conventions and my niece is din¬ 
ing out. Mellish, take Mr. Johnson’s bag to the 
south guest room, and make him comfortable there.” 

Mellish departed, and after informing Miss Vin¬ 
cent, went about his other errands. 

“ Man here,” he announced a little later to his 
wife, who was also the Vincents’ cook. “ Nicish 
chap, but addle-pated. So took up with the house 
he don’t know what he’s saying.” 

“ They’re often took like that,” returned Mrs. 
Mellish, placidly. “ Where’s he put? ” 

“ In the south room.” 

“ H’m; master must set a pile by him.” 

“ I don’t know about that. I’m not sure they 
ever met before.” 

“ Too bad Miss Rosemary’s out,—she likes a 
stranger here now and then.” 

“ Oh, Miss Rosemary wouldn’t look at him. 
He’s not her sort,” said Mellish. 





CHAPTER II 


THE GUEST AT GREATLARCH 

The organ hall at Greatlarch was a massive west 
wing, with transepts looking north and south. The 
hall, as large as a small church, was Corinthian in 
design, with side walls of antique oak, marvellously 
carved and gilded, that had been brought from Eng¬ 
land in panels. High above the antique oak cornice 
rose the vaulted, coffered ceiling and at the east end 
was a balcony that might be reached from the second 
story. A rose window in the third story also 
looked down into the beautiful room. 

In the semicircular west end was the great 
organ, and at its keyboard sat Homer Vincent, his 
capable hands caressing the keys with a gentle yet 
an assured touch. He usually spent the hour before 
dinner at the organ, and those who knew him could 
divine his mood from the music they heard. 

Tonight his mood was variable, uncertain. He 
struck slow, close harmonies in a desultory fashion, 
his fine head bowed a trifle as if in deep thought. 
Then, suddenly, he would lift his head, and the 
organ would peal forth a triumphant strain, like a 





THE GUEST AT GREATLARCH 


29 


song of victory. Or some crashing chords would 
resound for a moment, to be followed by a silence 
or by a return to the slow, meditative harmonies. 

Sometimes he would play works of the masters 
and again he would drift into improvisations of 
his own. 

As the dinner hour drew near, Anne Vincent 
came from her room on a mezzanine floor, and 
went directly to the gallery that overlooked the 
organ room. 

A slight little lady, a spinster of forty-seven, she 
had enough pretensions to good looks to warrant her 
pride in dress. Her hair would have been gray, 
but for discreet applications of a certain concoction. 
It would have been straight, but for the modern in¬ 
vention known as a permanent wave. And so, she 
presented to the world a beautifully coifed head 
of dark-brown hair, whose frantic frizz was per¬ 
suaded to lie in regular, though somewhat intractable 
waves. Her eyes w T ere gray, like her brother’s, but 
more bright and piercing. Her air was alert, observ¬ 
ant and interested. Where Homer Vincent showed 
utter indifference to the universe at large, his sister 
manifested interest, even curiosity, toward all mun¬ 
dane matters. 




30 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


Her slight figure was youthful, her manner ani¬ 
mated, and her clothes were in exquisite taste and 
bore the labels of the best modistes. 

Tonight she wore a Georgette gown of a pale 
apricot color, simply made, but with delicate, floating 
draperies that betokened the skilled hand of an 
artist. Her only ornament was a large and perfect 
ruby, set in finely wrought gold work. 

With a light step she tripped down the short 
mezzanine stairs to the upper front hall. This was 
no less beautiful than the hall below. It was flanked 
on either side by four Corinthian columns with gilded 
capitals, and the panelled ceiling was modelled after 
one in the Ducal Palace at Venice. 

Save for the Tower rooms on either side, this 
hall took up the entire front of the house, and from 
it a balcony rested on the portico above the 
main entrance. 

Through the hall Miss Anne went, her high- 
heeled slippers making no sound on the rugs, which 
were skins of polar bears. 

Through to the balcony above the organ room 
she passed and stood, one slim hand on the carved 
balustrade, looking down at her brother. 






THE GUEST AT GREATLARCH 


31 


“Poor Homer,” she thought to herself; “he 
doesn’t know what to do. But of course Mr. John¬ 
son is right in the matter,—and of course he knows 
—my! it means a lot of money! Well, Homer has 
plenty—if he will only think so. A strange man, 
that Mr. Johnson—now I think I like him,—and 
then—I don’t—I wish I—but, of course,—my 
heavens! here he comes now!” 

Anne Vincent looked up with a smile as Haydock 
joined her on the balcony. 

The man was still rolling his eyes about as if 
in a very ecstasy of delight in what he saw. 

This was his first glimpse of the organ, as after 
their talk Vincent had sent him to his room to tidy 
up for dinner. 

“ I regret my informal attire—” he began, as 
he joined Miss Anne, but she brushed aside 
his apology. 

“It’s all right,” she said; “we’re always infor¬ 
mal when we’re alone. Now I should like elaborate 
dress every night, but my brother and my niece 
wouldn’t hear to such a thing. So you’re quite all 
right, Mr. Johnson. What do you think of 
the organ? ” 

“ I have no adjectives left, Miss Vincent. The 


32 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


whole place stuns me, I can scarcely believe I am in 
America,—I feel transported to the France of 
the Renaissance.” 

“ You are familiar with the history of that 
period?” She looked at him curiously. 

“ No,” he replied, honestly enough. “ No, I am 
not. But I know this is all of that era, and anyway, 
it so overwhelms me, I can’t quite analyze my 
emotions.” 

V 

“ Yes, I felt like that when we first came here. 
But five years have made me feel at home in this 
atmosphere. Your room, Mr. Johnson, is just above 
my own. It looks out on the south gardens 
and I am sure you noticed the lagoon and the 
Greek Temple? ” 

“Of course I did, though the twilight view made 
me only more anxious to see it all by daylight.” 

“ Which you can do in the morning. My niece 
will be here then, and she will show you the grounds. 
That Greek Temple is a Mausoleum.” 

“ A wondrously beautiful one! ” 

“Yes, is it not? And now, dinner is served,— 
come Mr.' Johnson,” and then, “ Come, Homer,” 
she called to her brother at the organ. 

Vincent met them in the lower hall, and ushered 


THE GUEST AT GREATLARCH 


33 


them into the Atrium. This, perhaps the most im¬ 
posing feature of the house, was a pure and perfect 
example of Greek Ionic architecture. 

From the floor of native white marble, rose six¬ 
teen monolithic columns with gilded capitals and 
bases of Bois de Orient and Vert Maurin marble. 
The side walls were of Rose of Ivory marble quar¬ 
ried in the Atlas mountains of North Africa. 

These details Homer Vincent told his guest as 
they passed through the great room, and drew his 
attention to the tall plate-glass windows that formed 
the whole southern end. 

Between the Ionic columns of the semicircular 
south portico could be seen the lagoon with its foun¬ 
tain, and at its far end gleamed the pure white 
of the Greek Temple against a dark setting of pines 
and larches. 

Johnson sighed as they turned to the dining 
room, another marvel of Italian Renaissance, in 
antique English oak, with tall chimney-piece of 
French Griotte and Belgium Black marbles. 

“ I wonder,” Haydock said, whimsically, as they 
took their seats, “ if the native marble of Vermont 

resents the presence of these imported strangers.” 

3 


34 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 



“ I have thought that, too,” and Miss Anne’s 
eyes twinkled, “ I am sure it is the case.” 

“ They dislike one another,” Vincent said, taking 
up the jest. “ The Italian and African marbles scorn 
the Vermont stone, however pure and white. But 
they are silent about it, for the most part. In our 
living room is a chimney-piece of Porte Venere or 
‘ Black and Gold ’ marble from Spezia, which, with 
its gold bronze ornaments is one of the handsomest 
and most expensive features of the house. You will 
forgive my descanting on these things, Mr. Johnson, 
but I own up that this house is my hobby, and I am 
a bit daft over it.” 

“ I don’t wonder,” declared Haydock, with hon¬ 
est enthusiasm. “ And I am glad to hear these 
details. Of course, I am especially interested, be¬ 
cause of—” 

“ I am going to ask of you,” Vincent interrupted 
him, “ not to discuss during dinner the business on 
which you came here. It is,” he smiled, “ bad for 
our digestion to think deeply while eating, and too, I 
want you to do justice to the art of my cook.” 

The dinner, indeed, as well as the service of it, 
was entirely in harmony with the surroundings, and 
though there was no unnecessary pomp or ceremony, 
the details were perfect and correct. 













THE GUEST AT GREATLARCH 


35 


Mellish, like a guardian spirit, hovered about, 
and two waitresses under his jurisdiction were suffi¬ 
cient to insure the comfort of the party. 

“ I am sorry your niece is not at home/’ Haydock 
said, as Rosemary’s name was casually mentioned. 

“ You shall see her tomorrow,” Vincent prom¬ 
ised. “ This evening we must have another confab 
in my study as to our business, and I trust we shall 
settle it to the satisfaction of all. Mr.—er—John¬ 
son, you must remain here for a time as our guest.” 

“ Thank you,” Haydock said, simply. “ I trust 
I may do so.” 

He looked at Miss Anne, as if expecting a confir¬ 
mation of the invitation, but she said nothing. 

“I suppose,” he said, “that, having your sister 
and your niece, you have not felt the need of a wife 
as chatelaine of this wonder-home.” 

Homer Vincent smiled. 

“I’m afraid,” he said, “no wife would put up 
with my vagaries. I’m not an easy man to 
live with—” 

“ Oh, now, Homer,” his sister protested, “ you 
sha’n’t malign yourself. If my brother is a bit 
spoiled, Mr. Johnson, it is because my niece and I 
pet and humor him. It is our pleasure to do so. 
You see, my brother is a very remarkable man.” 


36 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


u 


And my sister is blindly prejudiced in my 
favor/’ Vincent tossed back. “ We are a very happy 
family, and perhaps the more so that each of us 
follows his or her own sweet will.” 

Although no outward change took place on the 
features of the blank-countenanced Mellish, yet could 
one have seen into his brain, there was indication of 
unseemly derision and unholy mirth. 

For, as a matter of fact, every one at Great- 
larch, whether family, guest, or servant, followed 
the sweet will of Homer Vincent. 

At least, he did if he knew what was good 
for himself. 

Yet Vincent was no tyrant. He was merely a 
man whose only desire in life was creature comfort; 
whose only pursuit was his own pleasure; whose 
only ambition was to be let alone. - 

His sister and niece might do what they would, 
so long as they did not interfere with his plans. His 
servants might have much liberty, many indulgences, 
if they would but attend perfectly to his wants or 
needs. Guests could have the freedom of the place, 
if they kept out of his way when not wanted. 

Homer Vincent was not so much selfish as he 
was self-indulgent,—self-centered. He was schol- 




THE GUEST AT GREATLARCH 


37 


arly and loved his books; musical, and loved his 
organ; artistic and aesthetic, and loved his house 
and his collections; he was of an inventive turn of 
mind, and loved to potter about in his various 
workrooms and laboratories, without being bothered 
as to what he was doing. 

In return for these favors he gave his sister and 
niece pretty much a free hand to do as they chose, 
checking them now and then in the matter of expen¬ 
ditures. For though the Vincent fortune was large, 
it was not inexhaustible, and the upkeep of the place 
was enormous. Yet it must be kept up in a manner 
to please Homer Vincent’s ideas of comfort, even 
though this necessitated curtailing the hospitalities 
toward which Miss Anne and Rosemary inclined. 

Homer was kindly by nature; he really disliked 
to deny Anne anything she wanted, but, as he said, 
they couldn’t entertain all Hilldale all the time, 
especially as they had no desire to accept 
return hospitalities. 

And if Miss Anne did have such an undesirable 
desire, she kept it to herself, for she adored her 
clever brother. 

Her other brother, the father of Rosemary, had 



38 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


died five years before, an event whicn resulted in 
the girl’s coming to live with these relatives. 

The household was harmonious,—if and when 
the two women sank their own wills in the will of 
Homer Vincent. Otherwise not. 

Not that there was ever any friction, or 
unpleasantness. 

Vincent had a way of attaining his end without 
such. And, perhaps through habit, perhaps follow¬ 
ing the line of least resistance, both the older woman 
and the girl willingly capitulated when conditions 
required it. 

For Rosemary loved her Uncle Homer, and Miss 
Anne fairly worshipped him. 

It went without saying, therefore, that Vincent’s 
hint that business matters should not be discussed 
at the table, was effectual. 

Haydock acquitted himself fairly well. The 
interest he felt in the business which had brought 
him thither, and the absorbing entertainment of this 
beautiful home, filled his mind to the exclusion of all 
else. And since the first subject was for the moment 
taboo, he pursued the other with zest. 

“ The man who built this was a genius,” 
he declared. 




THE GUEST AT GREATLARCH 


39 


“ It was built,” Vincent informed him, “ by a 
prominent firm of New York architects, but as they 
faithfully copied an old French chateau, they had 
little need for originality. Of course it was a folly. 
These great palaces often are. After getting it, the 
owner found he hadn’t sufficient fortune left to keep 
it up. So it came into the market, and years later 
I was fortunate enough to get it at a great bargain. 
Probably I paid not half of the original build¬ 
ing cost.” 

“ Lack of funds wasn’t the only reason that 
Mr. Lamont wanted to sell it,” Miss Anne said, with 
a glance at her brother. 

“ No,” and Homer Vincent looked grave. 
“ There is a tragedy connected with the place, but I 
try not to let it affect my nerves or even linger in my 
memory. I wish you would do the same, Anne.” 

“ Oh, it doesn’t get on my nerves, Homer, but 
I can’t put it out of my memory, altogether. I am 
reminded of it too often.” 

“May I hear the story?” asked Haydock, look¬ 
ing from one to the other. 

“ If you wish,” Vincent said, a little unwillingly; 
“ but it’s not a cheerful one.” 


40 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


“ Anything connected with this wonderful place 
must be of interest/’ Haydock declared, and Anne 
Vincent began the tale. 

“ It’s a ghost story,” she said, her eyes showing 
a sort of horrified fascination. “ You see, Mrs. 
Lamont, the wife of the former owner, was mur¬ 
dered in her bed—” 

“ Now, Anne,” her brother interrupted, “ we 
don’t know that she was—it may have been 
a suicide.” 

“ No,” Miss Anne declared, positively, “ she was 
murdered, and her ghost still haunts the place.” 

“ Have you seen it? ” Haydock asked. He had 
deep interest in the occult. 

“ I haven’t seen it,—but I’ve heard of it,” she 
replied, in a whisper. “ What do you suppose it 
does ? It plays the harp—the Wild Harp! ” 

“ Oh, come now, Anne, don’t bore Mr. Johnson 
with your fairy tales.” 

Homer Vincent was in the best possible humor. 
He had had a dinner that exactly suited him, per¬ 
fectly served, and now as he pushed back his chair 
a little, he was raising a cigar to his lips, knowing 
that at the instant it reached them a lighted match, in 
Mellish’s careful hand, would touch the other end 






THE GUEST AT GREATLARCH 


41 


of it. Knowing, too, that an ash-tray would mate¬ 
rialize on the exact spot of the tablecloth that he 
wished it, and that, simultaneously, his coffee cup 
would be removed. 

These things were necessary to Homer Vincent’s 
happiness, and his thorough drilling of Mellish had 
made them immutable. 

He had instructed the butler long ago to measure 
carefully with a yardstick the exact distances be¬ 
tween the four table candlesticks as well as their 
distance from the edge of the table. 

Yet Vincent was no “ Miss Nancy,” no feminine 
or effeminate fusser in woman’s domain. All details 
of housekeeping were left to Miss Anne, whom he 
had also trained. But the most infinitesimal derelic¬ 
tions from exact order and routine were noticed and 
reproved by Homer Vincent and rarely indeed did 
the same error occur twice. 

In fact, after his five years of occupancy, he had 
his home in perfect running order, as he con¬ 
ceived perfection. 

Banquets were never given, house guests were 
rare, callers infrequent, because none of these things 
contributed to the comfort of Homer Vincent. His 
tranquil days were occupied with his pleasant avoca- 


42 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


tions indoors, varied by motor trips, horseback rides, 
or country rambles. 

His stables and garage boasted the finest horses 
and cars, and in addition he was seriously contem¬ 
plating an aeroplane. Indeed, he had already ordered 
plans drawn for a hangar. 

All of his belongings were at the service of his 
sister and niece at such times as he did not himself 
require them. It was their duty to find out when 
these times were. 

But the two women had no trouble about this. 
Vincent was not unreasonable, and both Miss Anne 
and Rosemary were astute enough to read him 
pretty well. 

He required Anne to be always present to preside 
at his table. To be sure, he did the presiding him¬ 
self, but he wished her at the head of the board 
always. This precluded her accepting invitations 
which did not include him or which he was not 
inclined to accept. However, the placid lady was 
more than willing to defer to his preferences. 

Rosemary was allowed more freedom in these 
matters and went to visit her girl friends as often as 
she chose. Having them to visit her was another 







THE GUEST AT GREATLARCH 


43 


matter, and only to be suggested with the greatest 
discretion and careful choice of opportunity. 

“ Yes,” Miss Anne was saying, “ and, do you 
know, Mr. Johnson, my room,—my bedroom is the 
one she had, and the one that is said to be haunted 
by her ghost! ” 

“ Really, Miss Vincent? And are you not 
timid—? ” 

“ Not a bit! You see, it is the loveliest room in 
the house,—except brother’s, and I would be silly 
to refuse it because of a foolish superstition.” 

“ Just below my room, you said, I think? ” 

“ Yes, facing south,—looking out on the lagoon 
and fountain and on down to that beautiful marble 
Temple—” 

“ That is a tomb! ” finished Vincent. “ Any 
other woman would be scared to death to look out on 
that view, but I believe my sister enjoys it.” 

“ I surely do, Homer. Often I look out there 
on moonlight nights and feel sorry for the poor lady. 
And—” her voice fell, “ sometimes I hear her— 
playing on her harp—” 

“ Oh, come now, Anne, you’ll get Mr. Johnson 
so wrought up he won’t dare sleep in his own room, 
which of course has the same outlook! ” 



44 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


“ I’m not superstitious,” Haydock averred. “ In 
fact, I should like to hear the ghostly harp—though 
I cannot say I’d welcome a spook visitor! ” 

“ Let us look out in that direction,” said Vincent, 
rising. His idea of Anne’s presiding was to have 
her ready to arise at his signal, not the other way. 

He led them back through the Atrium and on 
out to the great semicircular portico that was the 
southern entrance. 

“ It’s chilly,” he said, as he opened a long plate- 
glass door. “Better stay inside, Anne. Just a mo¬ 
ment, Mr. Johnson, unless you think it too cold? ” 

“No, I like it,” and Haydock stepped out into 
the crisp night air. 

“ Feels like snow,” said Vincent. “ Now, of 
course, tomorrow you can see this in the sunlight, 
but in this dim murk, with the shadows so deep and 
black, it is a picturesque sight, is it not? ” 

“ It’s wonderful! ” Haydock exclaimed, looking 
across the black water of the lagoon, where the 
dimly seen fountain did not obscure the faint gleam 
of white marble that was the Mausoleum. 

“You like to keep that thing there?” he 
asked, curiously. 

“Why not?” and Vincent shrugged his shoul- 


THE GUEST AT TEATL, TCH 


45 


ders. “ Since it doesn’t wo y the 1 lies, and I 
have no fear of spooks, why homd I ive it re¬ 
moved? It is exquisite, the i np e lie model, 
as you can scarcely see now, is trial of the 
Parthenon.” 

“ How did the story of the In tin g me 

about? ” 

“Since it is supposed that the la ‘v was mur¬ 
dered, it would be more strange if such sr 
not arise. It was long ago, you know. .I’ve 
here five years, but before that the house stood en. 
for nearly twenty years. In that time many legem 
found credence, and many ghostly scenes we"° re¬ 
ported. Apparitions flitting round the tomb art ‘ht 
most common reports, but strains of a wild hi. 
also are vouched for. Indeed, my sister thinks sh 
has heard them.” 

“ Have you? ” 

Homer Vincent hesitated, and then said, “ There 
have been times when I thought I did. But of 
course it was imagination,—stimulated by the weird 
aspect of the place. Look at that thicket back of 
the Temple. Even now, you can seem to see mov¬ 
ing shadow's.” 

“ What is behind there? ” 





46 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


“ It is a sort, of undergrowth of low pines and 
birches, scrub oaks and elms, a tangle,—almost a 
jungle, of vines and canebrakes—” 

“ Swampy? ” 

“ Not quite that,—though mucky after a long 
rainy spell. I threaten now and then to have it all 
cleared out and drained,—but I haven’t got at it yet. 
It is more or less fenced off,—you can just see the 
low stones—” 

“ Yes, they look like gravestones.” 

Vincent smiled. “ They do. That adds to the 
spookiness. Do you know the villagers, before I 
came here, called the place Spooky Hollow? ” 

“ And a good name, too!” Haydock shivered. 
The atmosphere of gloom was beginning to tell on 
his nerves. “Guess I’ll seek the bright lights! 
It’s fairly creepy out here! ” 

Vincent turned toward the house, his slight limp 
showing itself a little as he crossed the tiled terrace. 

“ It is all most wonderful,” Haydock summed up, 
as they re-entered, “ but it does not make me forget 
my mission here—” 

“ Let that wait, my dear sir, until we are 
by ourselves.” 

For the ubiquitous Mellish was in silent waiting 




THE GUEST AT GREATLARCH 


47 


to open the door wider for them, to close it, and to 
stand at attention for orders. 

Haydock perceived the man was a bodyservant 
of his master rather than a mere butler. 

“ And now,” Vincent said, “ we will again seek 
my own private room, and settle the business. After 
that, I trust we shall all sleep contented and serene. 
Come, Anne, we want your advice and opinions.” 

Miss Vincent joined them, and as they passed 
into Homer Vincent’s Tower room, Mellish, looking 
a little regretful, returned to his domestic duties. 


CHAPTER III 


ROSEMARY 

“That man up there is a queer bird,” Mellish 
declared to his wife, as he joined her in the kitchen. 

“As how?” Mrs. Mellish inquired, with slight 
interest. 

The main kitchen at Greatlarch was a spacious 
room with walls of pure white marble. Spotless all 
its appointments and speckless Mrs. Mellish had 
them kept. 

Of a truth she dwelt in marble halls, and having 
plenty of vassals and serfs at her side, she secured 
the immaculate tidiness in which her soul delighted, 
and which, incidentally, Mr. Vincent exacted. 

No oversight of Susan Mellish was necessary. 
Cook she was, but also she was queen of her own 
domain and life below stairs went on with no more 
friction or dissension than above. In the household, 
Homer Vincent’s motto was: “ Peace at Any Price,” 
and if an underling disturbed it, there was a 
rapid substitution. 

Nor was there any ripple in the smooth-flowing 
48 




ROSEMARY 


49 


current of the family life. Homer Vincent saw to 
that. Not that the man was domineering. On the 
contrary, he was a loving and kind brother and 
uncle. His tastes were simple, even though luxu¬ 
rious. He asked only smooth-running household 
machinery and no interference in his own pursuits. 

Anne Vincent was nominally housekeeper, and 
indeed she kept up a careful oversight, but Susan 
Mellish was so thoughtful, so capable, so meticu¬ 
lously watchful of details there was little or nothing 
for Miss Anne to do. 

The whole household worshipped the master, and 
he repaid them by liberal wages and comfort¬ 
able living. 

The servants’ quarters included delightful 
sitting-rooms and dining-room, and their sleeping- 
rooms were most pleasant and beautifully appointed. 

A feature of the house was Homer Vincent’s 
own suite. Above his Tower room on the first floor 
was his smoking-room on the second floor. Back of 
this followed his bedroom and elaborate bath. Next, 
his library, with large open terrace that in winter 
became a sun parlor. 

These rooms, of rarest marbles and woods, with 
French panels of paintings, mirrors, and rich bro- 
4 


50 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


cades, were appointed in perfect taste. No gim- 
crackery ornaments, but dignified furniture and a 
few fine paintings and vases. 

The library was a joy. Comfort and beauty 
of the highest degree were combined with utilitarian 
bookracks and tables. 

These rooms ran along the whole east side of 
the house, ending with the library and terrace, which 
looked down toward the Temple as well as off to 
the east. 

They were directly above the lower Tower room, 
the dining-room and breakfast-room and the family 
living-room. The other side was taken up by the 
reception room, the great organ wing, and, back of 
that, the drawing-room. Between the two sides were 
the wide entrance hall, and the wonderful Atrium. 

Above the Atrium, at the south end, was Miss 
Vincent’s room, on a mezzanine floor, and above 
that, on a second mezzanine, was John Hay- 
dock’s room. 

The floor above held six large guest rooms and 
the servants’ bedrooms were higher still. However, 
electric elevatois did away with the discomforts of 
stair climbing, and the many floors, cellars, and sub¬ 
cellars were easy of access. 


ROSEMARY 


51 


And the two Mellishes, with Miss Anne watch¬ 
fully observing, held the reins of government of this 
establishment, and so great was their efficiency, so 
true their system and method, that a jar of any sort 
was exceedingly rare, and, because of its rarity, was 
fully and promptly forgiven by Homer Vincent. 

“ Yes, a queer bird/’ Mellish repeated, shaking 
his head. “ He’s that dark, now.” 

“ Dark?” 

u You heard me! Yes, I said dark. Dark com¬ 
plected, dark eyes, dark hair, dark hands, and 
dark clothes.” 

“ Not dressed up? ” 

“No, but that isn’t it, he’s almost dark enough 
to be a Creolian.” 

Mellish was a good butler, but made an occa¬ 
sional slip in his diction. One can’t know everything. 

“ Yes, Susan, he’s not our sort, and I know it. 
He’s peculiar,—that’s what he is,—peculiar.” 

“ So’s the master.” 

“ Ah, that’s different. The Vincent peculiarities 
are of the right sort. This man, now,—well, Susan, 
he was so took up with the place, he could scarce 
eat his dinner.” 

“ Small wonder. The place is a fair marvel to 
those who’ve not seen it.” 


52 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


“ It isn’t that. I’ve seen guests before, who 
were overwhellumed by it. But this chap,—he, why 
he had an appraising glance for it,—yes, sir, apprais¬ 
ing,—that’s the word.” 

“ Mellish, you’re daft. Appraising, was he? 
Like he meant to buy it! ” 

Susan’s ironic scorn would have withered any 
one but her husband. 

“ Susan, you’re a witch. That’s it exactly. Not 
that he meant such a thing, he’s a poor man, I’m 
thinking,—but that was the way he looked at it.” 

“ Drop him, Mellish. You’ve no sense tonight. 
Are you dismissed? ” 

“ Yes. Mr. Vincent said he’d not need me more. 
They’re shut in the Tower room, Miss Anne and all. 
They’re talking business. I can’t make that 
felly out.” 

“ Did he look sinister? ” 

“ What a woman you are for the word, Susan! 
No, it wasn’t that,—he looked more—er—deter¬ 
mined,—yes, that’s what that man is,—determined.” 

“ Determination can’t move the master. I’m 
bound he’ll be a match for anybody’s determination.” 

“ Oh, it isn’t a clash of wills—or that. But 
there’s a matter between them of some sort,—and 
Miss Anne’s in it, too.” 



ROSEMARY 


53 


“ And you’re eaten alive with curiosity, that’s 
what you are, man! Now, get about your business. 
And see to it the plumber is ordered in the morning. 
There’s a trickle in the cold storage room sink,—it 
only needs a washer,—and the hothouse hamper 
didn’t come today,—send Dickson to the station for 
it at sunup—and be sure to speak to Carson about 
his flirting with Francine—it won’t do.” 

As she talked, Susan was busily engaged in mix¬ 
ing and kneading the breakfast rolls. This was a 
duty that could be entrusted to no lesser artist in 
baking, for Susan’s rolls were nothing short of 
perfection, but it required all her care and attention 
to keep them so. 

In upon this engrossed couple drifted Francine, 
the pert little French maid, who, though Miss Anne’s 
exclusive property, also looked after Rosemary now 
and then. 

“ That man! ” she exclaimed, with a shrug of 
her slender shoulders, " Mon Dieu, but he is 
the beast! ” 

“ Where did you see him? ” and Mellish whirled 
on her. 

“ There, there, now, old man, don’t lose any 
temper! Miss Anne rang for me to get her a scarf. 


54 SPOOKY HOLLOW 

They’re all in the Tower room, and they’re talk¬ 
ing most—” 

“Angrily?” demanded Susan, whose curiosity 

was more aroused than she would admit to 
* 

her husband. 

“ No, not so much that,—as,—oh,—la, la,—ex¬ 
citement,—all talking at once,—argument—see? ” 
“What are they talking about?” This from 
Mellish,—who asked to know. 

“ That I can’t say. When I entered all converse 
stopped. But I could see the—atmosphere, the atti¬ 
tudes,—and the dark man—oh, he is a terror! Such 
a low voice—” 

“ Oh, you couldn’t hear him through the closed 
door! ” and Mellish glared at her. 

“ Non, Monsieur! Are you not desolate that I 
could not? ” 

Pretty Francine was a saucy piece and dearly 
loved to ballyrag the dignified butler. But both the 
Mellishes liked her, though they kept a wary eye on 
her coquettish ways with certain servants of the 
other sex. 

“ Is he threatening them? ” Susan asked. 

“Not quite that—but—” 

“ But you know absolutely nothing at all of what 




ROSEMARY 


55 


is going on! ” Mellish spoke sharply. “ You’re 
only pretending you do. Stop discussing your bet¬ 
ters and get about your work.” 

“ I’ve no work to do until Miss Anne wishes to 
retire. She will ring for me.” 

“ Then go and read your book. Or get some 
sewing. But don’t you dare go outside the door! ” 
Thus Susan admonished her, knowing full well the 
girl’s secret intention of slipping out for a few 
moments to join Carson, the chauffeur, in a 
stolen interview. 

So Francine dawdled about until the bell rang 

9 

and then presented her demure self at the door of 
the Tower room. 

Apparently the matter, whatever it was, had 
been most amicably settled, for the three were smil¬ 
ing and contented looking as Francine scanned 
their faces. 

John Haydock was a dark man,—not like a 
Creole at all, but merely markedly a brunette. His 
otherwise unnoticeable face wore a look of satisfac¬ 
tion, and as he stepped out into the hall, he had again 
that expression that could, perhaps, be called ap¬ 
praising. Yet small wonder, for his deep and 
enthusiastic interest in the house led him to examine 


I 


56 SPOOKY HOLLOW 

its various beauties and marvels, and few could do 
so without involuntary thought of the great out¬ 
lay involved. 

“ I will go with my sister to her room,” Vincent 
was saying, “ and you must amuse yourself a few 
moments. Then I will rejoin you for a good-night 
cigar, and then we will ourselves retire early.” 

As was his nightly custom, Homer Vincent 
escorted his sister to her room. Francine followed, 
and paused at the door, with her usual discretion. 

“ Come on in, Francine,” Vincent decreed. “ Fm 
not chatting with Miss Anne tonight. Get to rest, 
dear, and try to forget this whole matter. As you 
know, I’m only anxious to do what is wise and 
right. You shall cast the final decision as to all 
details and tomorrow we will draw up contracts and 
all that.” 

“ How good you are, Homer; and though it was 
a long confab I do not feel so very tired. Fix my 
powder, dear, and go back to Mr. Johnson. He is 
a—not quite our sort,—is he, Homer ? ” 

“Not quite, dear,—but he is a good business 
man, I judge, and he seems honest.” 

Miss Vincent required a small dose of opiate each 
night, and fearing lest she should mistake the quan- 


ROSEMARY 


57 


tity prescribed, or that Francine might be careless, 
Homer Vincent himself each night measured out the 
portion for her. 

“ There you are,” he said, as he carefully gauged 
the dose. “ Give it to her when she’s ready, Fran¬ 
cine. Good night, Anne, dear.” 

He left his sister in Francine’s capable hands 
and went down to rejoin his guest. It was a mark 
of respect, if not of liking, that he took John 
Haydock up to his own library for their smoke. 

Though sybaritic in many ways, Vincent did not 
employ a valet. His preference was to have Mellish 
arrange his bedroom and night things, and then to 
retire by himself whenever it pleased him to do so. 
Like his sister, he was a poor sleeper, and often 
prowled round the house, upstairs and down, during 
many of the small hours. 

On the soft rugs his footfalls disturbed nobody, 
or if they did, no one was alarmed, so, in this, as in 
all other matters, Vincent pleased himself. 

On this night, when at last he was alone in his 
own bedroom he bethought himself of some matters 
he wished to attend to, that necessitated his going 
downstairs to his private room. He had not yet 
begun to undress, and as he went down the stairs 


58 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


and through the hall, where a dim light burned all 
night, he met the night watchman, Hoskins. This 
was by no means an unusual occurrence, for Hoskins 
came on every night at midnight, and made certain 
prescribed routes through the premises. 

Vincent gave the man a pleasant nod and went 
on his way. Though this Tower room was sacred 
to his use, it was by no means kept locked or difficult 
of access. Indeed, the door usually stood open, 
though in the room itself were two wall safes, con¬ 
cealed by decorative hangings and also a secret panel 
which was so cleverly hidden as to be perhaps impos¬ 
sible of discovery. 

It is at this point that Rosemary comes into 
this story. 

She comes in a motor-car, out of which she steps 
softly, as the car reaches the wooded part of 
the driveway. 

Unafraid, because she knows Hoskins is not far 
away, and because this is by no means her first 
experience of the sort, she makes her way silently 
toward the house. 

She cannot be seen gliding through the shadows, 
and she takes good care she shall not be heard. 

Reaching the stone arch of the entrance, she slips 


ROSEMARY 


59 


through, and pauses to reconnoitre. No lights are 
on save those in her uncle’s suite, and one in his 
Tower room below. 

“ Aha,” thinks the sagacious young woman, “ up 
yet,—the old Prowler, is he? Well, we’ll see what 
we’ll do about it. I 4° n ’t want to hang around 
long tonight! ” 

As may be gathered, Rosemary had overstayed 
her allowed time, and greatly desired to get into the 
house and up to her room unnoticed. For Homer 
Vincent was a bit strict about his niece’s behavior, 
and if truth be told, his restrictions were rather 
necessary and all for Rosemary’s good. 

Not that the girl was wilful or wayward, but at 
twenty-one, the hour of midnight seems to strike 
very early in the evening, and usually just when the 
fun is at its height. Yet it was a Medo-Persian 
law that Rosemary should be in the house by twelve 
o’clock—and to give her just due, she almost 
always was. 

But tonight had been a gay and pleasant party, 
and she had been tempted to remain beyond the hour. 

The afternoon’s portent of snow had been ful¬ 
filled, and though the squall had been short, it was 
severe, and now, though it was not snowing, there 


60 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


was enough fallen snow and cold dampness to make 
any tarrying outside exceedingly uncomfortable. 

So Rosemary crept to the great window that was 
at the southern exposure of the Tower room, and 
peeped in at her uncle. 

Wrapped in her fur motor coat, a brown toque 
spilling its plumes down one side of her pretty, eager 
face, Rosemary shivered as she picked her way 
through the soft wet snow, but nodded in satisfac¬ 
tion as she saw her uncle’s very evident absorption in 
whatever matter claimed his attention. 

About to turn away, she paused a moment to 
notice him as he opened a secret panel. She had 
known of the existence of this, but had never before 
seen it opened. 

Fascinated, she saw him searching among its 
contents, though she could discern nothing definitely. 
The window had a thin film of curtain material, and 
she really saw little beyond the moving silhouette 
and the furniture of the room. Moreover, it sud¬ 
denly came to her that she was rudely spying upon 
another’s movements in a way she had no right to 
do, and blushing to herself in the darkness, she 
turned quickly away. 

Rosy from the icy air, her cheeks glowed; and 



KOSEMARY 


61 


curled up by the dampness, her red-brown hair made 
little tendrils that blew across her face. She smug¬ 
gled into her fur collar and even welcomed the 
warmth of the long russet plume that fell over 
one ear. 

Carefully she slipped back again to the great 
front door, which she well knew Hoskins had not yet 
locked for the night. Turning the knob slowly, the 
opening door made no sound, and in a moment Rose¬ 
mary was inside. 

And it was just at that moment that Homer 
Vincent elected to return to his bedroom. But the 
girl quickly stepped behind one of the great columns, 
and stood in its protecting shadow while her uncle 
went up the stairs. 

She thought he limped a little more than usual, 
as he sometimes did when tired, and a wave of regret 
swept through her tender heart that she had dis¬ 
obeyed his orders. 

“ I’ll never do it again,” she resolved. “ Uncle 
Homer is too good to me for me to slight his wishes. 
I’m a wicked old thing! ” 

But a healthy, girlish hunger was more in evi¬ 
dence with her just then than her feeling of 
conscience-stricken remorse, and she turned her silent 


62 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


steps toward the dining-room. Here Mellish usually 
left for her some tempting bit of food on a tray in 
a cold cupboard, and investigating, Rosemary found 
a little mold of jellied chicken, with two buttered 
finger-rolls and a plate of fruit. 

Snapping on a small table light, she sat down to 
enjoy her little feast. 

Hoskins, passing, looked in and smiled at her. 
It was not the first time he had smiled at such 
a scene. 

Soon Rosemary finished her lunch, and gather¬ 
ing up her fur coat, went softly upstairs. 

She paused at the door of her Aunt’s room. 
Sometimes, if Miss Anne were awake, she liked to 
have Rosemary come in and tell her of the party. 
But the sound of heavy asthmatic breathing proved 
Miss Anne asleep, and the girl went on to her 
own rooms. 

Her boudoir was the Tower room over the recep¬ 
tion room and her bedroom was next back of that. 
Everything was in readiness and it was but a short 
time before Rosemary slumbered as soundly, if not 
as audibly, as her aunt. 

Hoskins went his rounds stolidly. He was a 
good and faithful watchman, largely because he had 


ROSEMARY 


6$ 

not the brains required for any higher calling. His 
route he meticulously followed, punching his time 
clocks as required, and throwing the flash of his 
electric lantern in dark corners. 

His orders took him outside and around the 
house as well as through the lower floors. The upper 
floors he was not required to patrol. 

As usual, he found no disturbing element and 
trudged around his appointed path like a patient 
ox. He had long since ceased to wonder at the 
beauty and grandeur of Greatlarch,—to him it was 
merely the home of his employer. 

He repeatedly tracked the soft wet snow in his 
journeys round the house, removing his damp over¬ 
shoes when making his inside rounds. 

His shift ended at seven o’clock, and at that 
hour he gladly went into the kitchen, where a hot 
breakfast awaited him. 

“ Nasty mess underfoot,” he confided to the 
maid who served him. “ Don’t go out today, my 
dear, lessen you have to.” 

“ The sun’s out bright,” she demurred, looking 
from the window. 

“ Yes, and that makes it all the wuss. Meltin’ an’ 
thawin’—sloppy weather, my dear.” 


64 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


As Hoskins’ “ my dears ” were matters of habit 
rather than real affection, the girl paid but slight 
attention and went about her business. 

The routine of breakfast preparations went on. 
The Mellishes appeared on the stroke of seven- 
thirty, as was their wont. They gravely inspected 
the work of their underlings and then set about their 
own superior duties. 

All was in readiness at eight, though it was an 
entirely uncertain question as to when the family 
would appear. 

They were subject to moods or whims, some¬ 
times having breakfast together and again having 
trays carried to any rooms that pleased them. 

Mellish opined, however, that this morning 
would see the family congregated in the breakfast- 
room because of the presence of a guest. 

And shortly after eight Homer Vincent appeared. 

Though always impatient at a delay not of his 
own causing, he showed no irritation and said to 
Mellish he would wait for Mr. Johnson to 
come down. 

Then Rosemary appeared. Such a pretty Rose¬ 
mary, her brown eyes smiling, her animated little 
face showing a frank curiosity. 


ROSEMARY 


65 


“ Good morning,” she cried, “who’s here? 
Francine says there’s a guest.” 

“ Yes, but he isn’t down yet. A Mr. Johnson, 
who came to see Antan and myself on some busi¬ 
ness affair.” 

Rosemary had a funny little way of pronouncing 
Aunt Anne, and as it sounded like Antan, the nick¬ 
name had become habitual. 

“Nice?” she asked, briefly. 

“ Rather,” her uncle returned. “ Good business 
chap, fairly good looking, decent manners, but no 
particular charm.” 

“Doesn’t sound much,” Rosemary observed; 
“ may I begin my breakfast? ” 

“ Oh, let’s wait a few moments. I told him eight 
o’clock, he’ll surely be down in a few moments.” 

And then Francine burst into the room, breath¬ 
less and wild-eyed with wonder. 

“But what do you think?” she cried, quite 
forgetting her formalities. “ Miss Anne—I cannot 
rouse her and her door is bolted! ” 

Homer Vincent looked at her coldly. 

“ Remember your manners, Francine,” he said 

in a tone of reproach. “ Your information does not 
5 







66 SPOOKY HOLLOW 

warrant such carelessness of address. Is Miss Vin¬ 
cent still sleeping? ” 

“ That’s just it, sir, I do not know. Always 
I hear her bell by eight o’clock at latest. Now, I 
go and tap, but she answers not,—nor do I hear her 
moving about inside her chamber.” 

“ Did you not go in? ” 

“ But the door is locked,—bolted on the inside. 
Always she bolts it at night, but the bolt is always 
off before this time in the day! ” 

Francine was a trim little figure, her plain black 
dress and white cap and apron well becoming her. 
She was excitable, but this time her concern was 
deeper than mere excited curiosity. Plainly, she 
was alarmed. 

Vincent saw this, and spoke more kindly. 

“ Run up again, Francine, and rattle the door. 
I will go with you, if you wish.” 

“ Oh, do, sir, I did rattle at the door, and there 
was no response. And I did not hear her breathing 
—she—she breathes deeply, you know.” 

This was a discreet allusion to Miss Anne’s 
asthma, which at times was distinctly in evidence. 

“ Francine, I’m sure you’re needlessly excited; 
however, Mellish will go up and see—” 




ROSEMARY 


67 


The butler turned slowly toward the door, and 
Vincent said: 

“ No matter, Mellish, I’ll go myself,” and then, 
noting Rosemary’s frightened glance, he added, 
“ we’ll all go.” 

He led the way to Miss Anne’s bedroom, the 
great south room on the mezzanine above the hall. 

The short flight of steps ended in a broad land¬ 
ing, the bedroom door in its center. The door had 
been a heavy one of carved antique oak. But Miss 
Anne had disliked it, saying it was like a prison 
door. So her brother had had it removed and 
replaced by a light swing door, covered with rose- 
colored velour and studded round its edges with 
brass-headed nails. 

This door had a small bolt on the inside, but it 
was only to insure privacy, not at all a protection 
from possible marauders. 

Homer Vincent tapped at this door, calling 
“ Anne—Anne, dear! ” 

There was no response and Vincent pressed his 
ear to the door. 

The others watched, breathlessly, and Rosemary 
shrank back in nameless dread while Francine flut¬ 
tered and gave voice to voluble French expletives. 


68 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


“ Be quiet, Francine! ” Vincent commanded, and 
Mrs. Mellish, who had joined the group, gave the 
French girl an admonitory shake. 

“ I shall break in the door,’’ Vincent said; “ it’s j 
a flimsy thing. Stand back, Rosemary. Mellish, 
push here, as I strike.” 

The combined strength of the two men easily 
forced the door, and Mellish fell into the room first. 

Vincent, following, hurried to his sister’s bed. 

The beautiful room, built for the first mistress 
of the house, had a raised dais, a sort of low plat¬ 
form for the bed to stand on. Also, from the ceil- 
ing depended an elaborate cornice that surrounded 
the space designed for the bed and from which hung 
voluminous curtains of silk brocade. 

In the shadowy gloom of these curtains lay Miss 
Anne, and as her brother reached the bedside and 
pushed away the hangings to see his sister, he cried 
out in a horrified voice, “ Keep back! Mellish, keep 
back Miss Rosemary! ” 

Waving a warning hand at them, Vincent leaned 
over the still form and then turned round, his hands 
clenched and horror on his face. 

“ My sister is dead! ” he cried. “ She—she—oh, 
take that child away! ” 






ROSEMARY 


69 


“ I will not be taken away, Uncle Homer,” Rose¬ 
mary cried. “I’m not a baby! Let me know the 
truth! What has happened? ” 

Breaking away from the restraining arms of 
Mrs. Mellish, unheeding Mellish’s effort to stop her, 
she ran to the bedside and herself looked inside the 
long curtains. 

She saw a white, dead face, staring eyes and 
a nightdress stained with crimson drops. 


CHAPTER IV 





A MYSTERIOUS DEATH 

“ Oh, Antan ! ” Rosemary cried, starting back 
in horror. “ Oh, Uncle Homer, what is it? ” 

Vincent put his arm round the terrified girl and 
they both gazed on the dreadful sight. Both were 
white-faced and trembling, and though Homer Vin¬ 
cent strove hard for composure, it was a few 
moments before he could even speak. 

Then, still holding Rosemary close, he spoke to 
the others. 

“ Mellish,” he said, “ Miss Vincent is dead. She 
has been killed. That’s all my brain can take in at 
present. I am stunned—I am heartbroken,”—and 
the man’s enforced calm gave way as he sank into a 




chair and buried his face in his hands. 

Then Mrs. Mellish stepped nearer to the bed, 
gave one glance at the awful sight and turned shud¬ 
dering away. 

“ Leave the room,” she said to the trembling 

o 

Francine. “You’ll be flying into hysterics in a min¬ 
ute. I know you! Leave the room.” 


70 






A MYSTERIOUS DEATH 


71 


“What shall I do? Where shall I go?” the 
French girl cried. “ My place is here—beside 
my mistress.” 

“ She’s right,” and Mellish showed surprised 
approval of Francine’s self-control. “ You stay in 
this room, Francine, and don’t you get to blubbering. 
Keep your head, and you can be of good service. 
Mr. Vincent, shall I call a doctor? ” 

“ Why, yes,—do, Mellish. Poor Anne is dead, 
but—yes, I’d like you to call Doctor McGee. And— 
and Mellish, I suppose we ought to notify—” 

“ Do nothing, sir, until Doctor McGee comes. 
He’ll know just what to do.” 

Mellish departed to telephone the Doctor, and 
Homer Vincent, lifting his bowed head, rose and 
began to assume his usual place at the helm. 

“ I can’t seem to think,” he said, as he brushed 
his hand across his brow. “ Rosemary, who could 
have done such a thing? Who could harm such a 
dear lady? ” 

“ Oh, I don’t know, Uncle,—did—did somebody 
kill her ? ” 

“ Unless she took her own life—she wouldn’t do 
that, would she, Rosemary?” 

It was strange the way the strong and self suffi- 


72 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


dent man seemed to appeal to his niece. Mrs. 
Mellish regarded him solicitously. She had never 
before seen Homer Vincent troubled. 

“ There now, sir,” she said, in kindly fashion, 
“ you can do nothing for the poor lady now. Come 
down to the breakfast-room, sir, and take a cup of 
coffee and a bite of breakfast. Come now, Miss 
Rosemary, let Melly fix you out.” 

The girl often called Mrs. Mellish thus, to dis¬ 
tinguish her from her husband. 

“Oh,” exclaimed Vincent, suddenly, “that man, 
that Mr. Johnson! He must be already down in the 

breakfast-room, and no one to look after him! Run 
down to him, Melly.” 

“ Come you, too, sir. And Miss Rosemary. 
The man must be told,—best you should do it, 
Mr. Vincent.” 

“ Yes,” and Homer Vincent rose, with a deter¬ 
mination to do his part, however hard it might be. 
“ Rosemary, will you come with me, or will you 
have your breakfast taken to your rooms ? ” 

“ I’ll go with you, Uncle. Perhaps I can help. 
Who is Mr. Johnson? ” 

“ He’s a man who came yesterday on business, 




A MYSTERIOUS DEATH 


73 


and I asked him to stay the night. I asked him to 
stay on, but I hope he’ll go this morning.” 

“ Oh, he surely will,—when he hears—Uncle 
Homer, I can’t believe it! ” she looked again at the 
silent, pitiful figure on the bed, where Francine was 
lightly laying a fine handkerchief over the face of 
poor Anne Vincent. 

“ That’s all right,”- Vincent said, slowly, “ but 
don’t touch the body otherwise, Francine. It—it 
isn’t right to do so.” 

“ No, sir,” and the maid nodded, compre- 
hendingly. 

“ Come now, sir,” Mrs. Mellish urged him, and 
with a backward glance of grief and bewilderment, 
Vincent followed Rosemary from the room. 

But Mr. Johnson was not in the breakfast-room. 
“ He has overslept,” Vincent said, glancing at 
the clock. “For I told him breakfast at eight and 
he said he would be prompt. I shouldn’t send for 
him, otherwise,—but—as things are, don’t you think, 
Melly, you’d better call him ? ” 

“Yes, sir; shall I tell him—what’s happened, 
sir?” 

“ Yes—no,—well, tell him that there is trouble 
in the household, you might say sudden illness—oh, 




74 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


I don’t care what you say, Melly, but can’t you hint 
that he’d better go right after breakfast? ” 

“ Yes, sir, surely,” and Mrs. Mellish went on 
her somber errand. 

Uncle and niece took their places in the bright 
and cheery breakfast-room. The weather had cleared, 
and the sun shone with a glowing warmth as of 
Indian Summer. 

“ Eat your breakfast, Rosemary,” Vincent said, 
“that will best help you to meet the trying times 
before you.” 

Habit is a compelling thing, and Homer Vincent 
went about his own breakfast methodically, as usual, 
chipping his egg with his customary care and atten¬ 
tion. It was characteristic of the man that even in 
the nervous stress and strain of the occasion, he 
gratified his physical appetite with apparent relish. 
Yet this was purely a matter of habit, and indeed, 
he was almost unaware of what he was eating or 
even that he was eating. 

The girl, however, could eat nothing. Her ex¬ 
citement was so great, her nerves so wrought up, that 
she found it impossible to swallow a mouthful. 

“ At least drink a cup of coffee, dear child,” 
her uncle urged, as he solicitously proffered cream 
and sugar. 




A MYSTERIOUS DEATH 


75 


At this moment Mrs. Mellish returned, her round 
face showing a look of amazement. 

“ The gentleman isn’t in his room, sir,” she said. 

a j » 

“ Then he’s out in the grounds,” interrupted 
Vincent, impatiently. “ Go and hunt him, Mellish.” 

Now, Mrs. Mellish’s place wasn’t in the dining¬ 
rooms at all at breakfast, a maid assisted the butler. 
But today the maids were demoralized and Melly 
was trying to help things along all she could. 

The news of the tragedy had, of course, flown 
like wildfire through the servants’ halls and they 
were even now in huddled groups in corridors 
and pantries. 

“ But, Mr. Vincent,” Melly resumed, “ the gen¬ 
tleman didn’t sleep in his bed! It hasn’t been 
touched since it was turned down for him last night.” 

“What?” Vincent stared at her incredulously. 

“No, sir; his hat and coat’s there, but his 
clothes ain’t—” 

“ Oh, then he’s spent the whole night prowling 
round the house. He was daft over it and hated to 
go to bed. I left him wandering round the upper 
floors. I hope he didn’t go out on the leads and fall 
over. What a bother he is! But go and find him 
Mrs. Mellish. Get some one to help, if you like,— 




76 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 




but get Mr. Johnson! He’s maybe fallen asleep in 
some Tower room.” 

Mrs. Mellish departed and Rosemary asked, 
“ Who is this man, Uncle ? ” 

“ An ordinary person, dear. I never saw him 
before,—he came to see me in regard to a business 
proposition, and your Aunt and I grew interested 
and promised to decide the matter today.” 

Tears filled his eyes as he realized there was no 
today for poor Anne Vincent. 

“But why wouldn’t he go to bed?” Rosemary 
persisted. “ Do you mean he spent the whole night 
wandering round the house? ” 

“ I don’t know, child, but he was mad about the 
place and most curious to visit every nook and 
cranny of it. I showed him about a lot, then, as he 
seemed inclined to explore for himself, I told him 
to do so.” 


“ What room did he have? ” 


“ The south room, above your Aunt’s. He’s a 
decent chap, but not quite our own sort. Ah, 
Mellish, did you get the doctor ? ” 

The butler shook his head. “ No, sir, he’s away 
on an important case, out of town, sir. Shall I call 
some one else?” 





A MYSTERIOUS DEATH 


77 


“ Oh, I don’t know what to say or do—” and 
Vincent seemed to be at his wits’ end. 

“ I wish I could help you, Uncle,” Rosemary 
said, gently; “you have such an awful burden to 
bear. Shall I call Bryce over—” 

“No; I am indeed in trouble, Rosemary, but I 
can bear my own burdens. I ask no help, at present. 
But when the time comes, I shall get help—skilled 
help—to solve the mystery of your aunt’s death and 
to bring the murderer to justice.” 

Vincent’s voice rang out sternly and Rosemary 
marvelled at the fiery depths of his eyes. 

He seemed to pull himself together anew, and 
said: “ I think, Mellish, you’d better call up the 
County Physician. He must be notified anyway, and 
if he gets here before Doctor McGee, it will do no 
harm. We must have some medical man, as soon 
as we can. Call Doctor Archer—and then, Mellish, 
for Heaven’s sake find that man Johnson. It’s 
unpardonable for him to act like this! ” 

The calm, even-tempered man was getting ner¬ 
vously upset. Nor could it be wondered at, for in 
all his life before equability and composure had 
never deserted him. But never had there been such 
provocation. For a man who lived but for his own 


78 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


pleasure, whose every thought and act were definitely 
directed toward the achievement of his own comfort 
and happiness, for a man like this to be brought sud¬ 
denly face to face with a tragedy that tore his very 
heartstrings was enough of itself to shatter 
his nerves. 

But when, in addition, he must meet the terrible 
situation, must even assume direction of the hor¬ 
rible events consequent upon it, must stifle and sup¬ 
press his own grief in order to preserve sufficient 
calm to take charge of the proceedings,—this was 
overwhelming, and Homer Vincent almost sank 
beneath the blow. 

But he was made of strong fiber, he was pos¬ 
sessed of an indomitable will and ability to cope 
with an emergency. 

Conquering his jumping nerves, he said: “We 
must all help, Rosemary. You must try to take 
your Aunt’s place so far as you can; look after the 
household matters, assist Melly, and be ready to see 
visitors,—for as soon as the news spreads there will 
be many callers.” 

Rosemary shuddered. “ Must I see them, Uncle ? 



I’d hate it—” 


Some we can refuse to see. But many must 


A MYSTERIOUS DEATH 


79 


be met,—and I thought, dear child, you’d do that 
to help me. I have many painful matters to see 
to myself.” 

“ Of course, I will, then,—and—if I could 
have Bryce—” 

“ Oh, Rosemary, just this once,—I beg of you, 
don’t bring up that subject—” 

Vincent looked so distressed that his niece said 
quickly, “No, I won’t,—but—if you only would—” 
She was interrupted by the return of Mellish. 
Having summoned Doctor Archer, he had him¬ 
self taken up the command of the search for the 
missing guest. 

' “ We can’t find that man anywhere,” he de¬ 
clared, looking completely mystified. “ As my wife 
says, he didn’t sleep in his bed, and what’s more, it 
doesn’t look to me as if he was in his room at all 
after dinner. There’s nothing put about, no chair 
out of place, no cigar ashes or that,—his night things 
all undisturbed, just as the maid laid them out. It’s 
mighty queer, sir,—ay, it’s mighty queer! ” 

“ His hat and coat are up there—in his room? ” 
“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Then he hasn’t left the place,—then he must be 
somewhere about.” 


80 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 




“ Yes, sir,—it would seem so, sir. But he isn’t, 
—he just isn’t. We’ve looked everywhere. We’ve 
called out, and we’ve rang bells, and we’ve searched 
the whole place. He’s nowhere about—alive.” 
Vincent started at the last word. 

“ What do you mean? ” he cried. 

“ Nothing, sir, only whoever done for poor Miss 
Anne may have done for him, too.” 

“ That’s so,” and Homer Vincent dropped his 
face in his hands as if this new phase of trouble 
was more than he could bear. 

* “ Mellish,” he said, at last, “ I can’t take it all 
in. It’s too much for me. I must have help—” 

“ Oh, Uncle Homer,” and Rosemary spoke in¬ 
voluntarily, “ if you’d only let Bryce—” 

“ Hush, Rosemary, don’t add to my troubles. 
No, much as I hate it, much as I dread it, I see I 
must call in the police. We’d better wait, I think, 
until Doctor Archer comes, but I am sure he will 
send for them at once. It is inevitable.” 

“ The police! Oh, no, Uncle Homer 1 ” 

“ I fear it must be so, Rosemary. And, dear, 
until they come is the only time we may have to our¬ 
selves. I mean, once they start investigations, the 



A MYSTERIOUS DEATH 81 

whole house will be upset and they will be entirely 
in charge.” 

“ How awful! Must we have them? ” 

“ Yes,” he spoke abruptly. “ Oh, Rosemary, I 
can’t stand this another minute! I shall go to the 
organ,—Mellish, when the Doctor comes let 
me know.” 

No one was surprised, a few moments later, to 
hear the long, low, mournful notes that pealed 
through the stricken house. It was the habit of 
Homer Vincent to find solace in music if anything 
troubled him, but never before had his troubles been 
more than some slight, momentary disturbance of a 
trifling sort. 

And as he played, he recovered his poise, he re¬ 
gained his courage, he felt enabled to cope with the 
trials that he must endure. 

One who knew him could judge from the deep, 
dirge-like strains or the troubled crashing chords, 
which phase of the tragedy was at the moment 
uppermost in his mind, the death of his sister, or 
the imminent horror of the consequent and neces¬ 
sary investigations. 

The servants were in a state of chaotic excite- 


6 


82 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


ment. The two Mellishes had their hands full to 
keep quiet and decorum in their domain. 

Francine, however, showed her best side, and 
proved that she had a fine and efficient nature. 

She put Miss Anne’s rooms in order, weeping 
silently as she disposed of the clothing the poor lady 
would never wear again. She was careful to dis¬ 
turb nothing that might be useful as evidence, for 
Francine fully realized the gravity of the case, and 
wanted to help, if only by letting things alone. 

She found Rosemary in her room, weeping her 
very heart out in an agony of woe. 

“ Poor child,” thought Francine, “ not a soul to 
go to for sympathy or comfort! ” 

“Mayn’t I send for someone, Miss Rosemary?” 
she offered. “Wouldn’t you like Miss Eaton, or—” 
“ No, Francine,” the girl looked at her fiercely; 
“ you know well there’s only one person I want 
to see,—and Pm not allowed to see him! ” 

“No,” and Francine nodded, understanding^; 
“ but don’t stir up your uncle about that. He’s got 
all he can stagger under.” 

“ So have I! ” Rosemary cried out. “ Don’t you 
suppose Pm as much broken up by Antan’s death as 
Uncle Homer is? Don’t you suppose I want some- 






A MYSTERIOUS DEATH 


83 


body to comfort and love me even more than he 
does? He has his music—that always quiets and 
soothes him, while I—I have nothing—nobody! ” 

The lovely face, torn with emotion and grief, 
was mutinous; the scarlet lips were trembling, while 
the white, tear-stained cheeks and the stormy eyes 
showed rebellion seething in Rosemary’s heart. 

“ But wait,” counseled Francine. “ All is now 
so—so excitement, so—tornado!” In moments of 
stress, Francine forgot her English. “ After a 
little, after some small few of days, the trouble will 
clear somewhat,—the suddenness will be for¬ 
gotten,—Monsieur will find himself, and, who 
knows, mademoiselle, all may be well for you— 
and yours.” 

Francine had never before spoken with such 
familiarity, but Rosemary did not resent it. She 
was too stunned, too helpless, to resent anything. 

“ Tell me about that man, Francine,” she said; 
“ did you see him? ” 

“ Yes, when Miss Anne called me to get her a 
wrap. Oh, he was dreadful! ” A French shrug be¬ 
tokened how dreadful. 

“ But how ? In what way ? ” 


84 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


“ So black, so sneering,—so dictating,—yet not 
a gentleman.” 

“ What in the world did he want? I wish Uncle 
Homer would tell me about him. Where do you 
suppose he is, Francine? ” 

“That is not hard to guess.” The French girl 
smiled a sardonic little grin,—like a wise sibyl. 

“ Why, what do you mean ? What do you 
think? ” 

And then came a peremptory summons for both 
girls to appear below. 

Doctor Archer had arrived, and, almost simul¬ 
taneously, the local police. 

The Law was represented by Lane, the Sheriff of 
the county, and two eager-eyed detectives, who were 
so flabbergasted by the beauty and grandeur of 
their surroundings that they seemed able to detect 
little else. 

Doctor Archer, the County Medical Examiner, 
was in charge, and was firing questions right and 
left. He had never before had such an opportunity 
to stand in the limelight and was making the most 
of it. 

“ The lady was murdered,” he informed his 
hearers, in a deep bass voice; “ most foully mur- 


A MYSTERIOUS DEATH 


85 


dered. She was stabbed with some sort of dagger 
or long-bladed knife.” 

“Carving-knife?” asked Brewster, one of the 
detectives, and Rosemary smothered a shriek. 

“ Not necessarily,” replied Archer, “ a long- 
bladed jackknife might have been used, or a regular 
dagger. Anyway, it required a long blade, for it 
went in her chest and pierced her heart. It was just 
one swift, deft blow, and death was instantaneous. 
Now, Sheriff, what do you make of that? ” 

“ Murderous intent,” answered Lane promptly. 
“ Murderer concealed in the room, like as not, 
all afternoon.” 

“ Ah, h’m, and how did he get out? ” 

“Door locked?” and Lane looked up quickly. 
He had not heard all the details yet. 

They were gathered in the living-room, a delight¬ 
ful room on the first floor, back of the dining-room. 
It looked out on the terrace, and on over the lagoon 
and fountain to the Greek Temple that was 
a Mausoleum. 

Lane was an artist at heart, a lover of the beauti¬ 
ful, and like many other visitors, he was overcome 
with the sights about him. 

They were to visit the room of the tragedy later, 


86 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


but Vincent had requested that the preliminary in¬ 
quiries be made in some other place. 

“ Yes,” Archer said, “ door locked on the inside.” 

“ Windows? ” asked Brown, the other and lesser 
detective. 

“ You must look into those things for your¬ 
selves,” Archer said. “ I’m merely making my medi¬ 
cal report. Then we’ll get a line on the time and 
all that and then we’ll go upstairs and take a 
look about.” 

Homer Vincent cringed at the matter-of-fact 
tone and the business-like air of the men, and Rose¬ 
mary, shocked at the whole proceeding, shivered so 
that Mrs. Mellish went and sat by her side and 
held her hand. 

Grateful for even this human sympathy, Rose¬ 
mary forced herself to listen to the inquiries now 
being made. 

Francine, composed and alert, answered readily 
all that was asked of her. 

So far as could be gathered, she was the last 
person known to have seen Miss Vincent alive. 

“ Tell us all about it,” Brewster said, listening 
eagerly. 

“ There’s not much to tell,” the French maid 











A MYSTERIOUS DEATH 


87 


averred. “ Miss Vincent spent a time after dinner 
in the Tower room of Mr. Vincent, her brother. 
There was also a Mr. Johnson with them, a dinner 
guest of the house. Miss Vincent left them and 
came up to her room at about half-past ten. Mr. 
Vincent came with her as he always does, to say 
good night and to measure her medicine. After Mr. 
Vincent had gone downstairs again, I assisted Miss 
Vincent to get ready for the bed, and I gave her 
her drops, arranged the coverlets, and put out the 
lights, all but the ones she wished kept burning. 
Then I said good night, and left her to herself/’ 

“ She had then gone to bed? ” 

“Oh, no; it was always her custom to sit up 
and read for a time. I left her sitting in her arm¬ 
chair, her reading light at her side, her books on a 
small table. Always I leave her thus at night. Then, 
when she tires of her books, she arises from her 
chair, locks her door, puts out her reading light 
and goes to bed. This, monsieur, is her invari¬ 
able routine.” 

“ She seemed well, in her usual spirits ? ” 

“ She seemed well, but much er—preoccupied. 
As if in deep—serious thought over something.” 


88 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


“ Over the discussion with her brother and the 
strange gentleman, perhaps? ” 

“ It may be. She said no word of what was in 

her mind/’ 

“ Was she irritable? Cross? ” 

“ Miss Vincent was never that. No, she was 
most courteous and kind, as always, but deeply 
thoughtful. When I left her, she said merely ‘good 
night/ not adding, ‘sleep well, Francine/ as is 
most usual.” 

“ But this only indicates thoughtfulness, not dis¬ 
turbance or worry,— eh? ” 

“ So it seemed to me. Also, she seemed rather 
satisfied with her thoughts, as if, after all, the matter 
was satisfactorily adjusted.” 

“ You gathered quite a bit from her manner,” 
Archer remarked, dryly. 

Francine caught his tone and flared up at once. 

“ I know—knew Miss Vincent very well, mon¬ 
sieur ! I knew well her moods and the phases of her 
mind. It was not much that I should read her satis¬ 
faction from her air and manner! Surely I could 
tell that she was contented and not worried or dis¬ 
turbed! That is not so amazing!” 

“ No,” said Archer. 





CHAPTER V 


WHERE WAS JOHNSON? 

On the whole, Francine made a good impres¬ 
sion. Though pert and saucy of appearance, she 
laid aside all such attitudes now, and seemed desirous 
only to be helpful and dutiful. 

“ Snappy chit, but devoted to her mistress,” was 
the way Brewster summed her up in his mind, and 
Brown contented himself with musing: ‘‘Full of 
pep, but honestly grieved.” 

Brewster and Brown were themselves honest, 
hard-working detectives. Far from brilliant, woe¬ 
fully inexperienced, they felt that now at last their 
chance had come, and they were firmly resolved to 
make good. 

Brewster was big and burly, and of a slow-going 
mind, while Brown was small, wiry, and active, with 
what he considered a hair-trigger intellect. They 
had often rejoiced in the fact, as they saw it, that 
they thus complemented one another, and they felt 
that their team work would be admirable should they 
ever get a chance to try it out. And now their 
time had come. 


89 


90 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


Eagerly they listened to Archer’s inquiries, care¬ 
fully they remembered the answers, and frequently 
gave each other astute glances, indicative of great 
mental activity. 

“ Now,” said Lane, “ let’s take up next thing 
we know of Miss Vincent. Did any one hear any 
sound from her or from her room during the night?” 

All present,—and several of the servants had 
gathered in the doorway,—declared they had heard 
no sounds from Miss Vincent’s room. 

“ There is a night watchman? ” Archer asked. 

“ Yes,” replied Mellish, who saved his master in 
every way he could. “ But if he had heard or seen 
anything unusual, he would have reported it first 
thing this morning.” 

Leave that for the moment, then. Now, who 
went first to Miss Vincent’s door this morning? ” 

“ Perhaps I did,” said Francine. 

“ Why do you say perhaps? ” demanded Lane. 

“ Because how can I tell?” returned Francine, 
wide-eyed at such stupidity. “ Any one might have 
been there before me—indeed, some one must have 
been there before me—the villain who killed my 
dear lady.” 





WHERE WAS JOHNSON 


91 


“ Very well,” said Lane, “ go ahead. What time 
did you go there? ” 

“At something after eight, monsieur. Always 
Miss Vincent rings for me earlier than that,—about 
seven-thirty, maybe. This morning she did not do 
so, and I waited until eight, then I went and hovered 
near her door, wondering at her sleeping so late. I 
listened closely, and hearing no sound, I ventured to 
turn the knob, but the door was locked and would 
not open. I called softly,—then louder, and then, 
listening intently, I heard no sound of Miss Vincent 
moving about, and I feared she was indisposed, and 
I greatly desired to get in to give her assistance, if 
need be.” 

“ What did you do? ” 

“ But, naturally, I ran down the stairs for help. 
Forgetting my discipline, I ran into the breakfast 
room, where were Mr. Vincent and Miss Rosemary, 
and I told them of the unusual condition,—and 
though not alarmed, Mr. Vincent was concerned, and 
with Mellish, we all came upstairs, and broke in 
the door.” 

“ Who broke it in? ” 

" Mellish and I together,” Homer Vincent an¬ 
swered for himself. “ The door is a light, tem¬ 
porary structure; my sister preferred it to the origi- 


92 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


nal heavy oak door. We burst it in,—in fact, it 
opened so easily Mellish was thrown to the floor. 
I went quickly to my sister’s bed, and the first glance 
told me the truth. I saw in an instant that she had 
been killed,—murdered. I admit I almost lost my 
consciousness. My senses reeled, and I fell back 
involuntarily. But I quickly pulled myself together, 
for my young niece was present, and forced myself 
to lean over the body and discover if life was surely 
extinct. It was,—the flesh was cold to my touch. 
I ordered Mellish to hold my niece back, as I wanted 
to spare her the awful sight. But she insisted on 
looking at her aunt, and for a moment we gazed to¬ 
gether on the terrible scene. I think there is no 
more to tell. Finding I could do nothing for my 
poor sister, assuring myself that she was positively 
beyond human aid, I fear I gave way to selfish grief 
for a few moments. Then I roused myself to a 
sense of duty, and ever since I have been trying to 
do what is right and wise in the matter. 

“ But I am all unversed in the course the law 
should take, or the manner of efforts that should be 
made to find the murderer and avenge the crime. 
Will you, therefore, gentlemen, take the case in 
charge, and do or advise me to do, whatever is right 


WHERE WAS JOHNSON 


93 


and best. Let one thing be understood. The mur¬ 
derer must be found. Spare no time, pains, or ex¬ 
pense. I stand ready to do anything I can, but as I 
said, I am ignorant of the proper procedure, 
and I desire to relegate the work to more experi¬ 
enced hands. 

“You think, do you not, Doctor Archer, that the 
criminal can be found and brought to justice? ” 

“ That is not quite in my province, Mr. Vincent. 
The inquiry is my duty, but the real detective work 
must be done by men skilled in such things.” 

Brewster and Brown looked duly important and 
capable, but they offered no hint of their conclusions 
so far. 

“ Do you think, Mr. Vincent,” Lane asked, in his 
ponderous way, “ that your sister's death could have 
been a suicide? ” 

“ I should say positively not,” Vincent replied, 
slowly, “ except for the fact that she died in a 
locked room. I can see no way that a murderer 
could escape and leave that door locked behind him. 
Yet, so far from probability is the idea of suicide, 
that I am forced to believe it was a murder, however 
impossible such a theory may seem. But all this 
business of theorizing and of deducing and collecting 


94 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


evidence is so foreign to my nature and to my ex¬ 
perience, that I cannot pretend to decide any 
such questions.” 

“ What weapon was used? Was any found? ” 
asked Brewster, looking at Vincent. 

“ That I don’t know,” he replied, looking in his 
turn at Doctor Archer. “ Did you find any, Doctor ?” 

“ No,” and Archer looked stern. “ There was 
none in evidence. Was any such thing removed 
before my arrival? ” 

“ Of course not,” said Vincent; ” who would do 
such a thing as that? ” 

“ Did you see any knife or dagger, Mellish? or 
you, Francine? ” Archer asked of the servants. 

But every one present denied having seen any 
weapon of any sort. 

“ Then,” said Brewster, “ it must have been 
murder.” 

“ But the door was locked,” Brown reminded 
him, “ so it must have been suicide.” 

“ Those statements are both true, superficially,” 
Lane said, “ but since they contradict each other, 
either or both may be untrue. One must be. Such 
points can only be settled after much more investi¬ 
gation than has yet been made. Shortly we will 




WHERE WAS JOHNSON 


95 


adjourn to the scene of the crime and gather what 
evidence we may up there. Just now, I’d like some 
more information regarding this stranger, this Mr. 
Johnson who visited here last night, and who, I 
understand, is now missing. 

“ That’s one of the strangest features,” said 
Lane. “ Please tell us all about him, Mr. Vincent.” 

Rosemary, who had sat quietly listening to the 
talk, now showed signs of curiosity. She wished 
herself to learn more of this strange visitor, but the 
conversation about her aunt had filled her soul only 
with horror and grief. 

Rosemary Vincent was of a self-contained, self- 
repressed nature. Though her uncle was kind, even 
generous to her in many ways, yet their tastes were 
not congenial, and their ways more utterly dissimilar. 

Indeed, this mutual sorrow that had just come 
to them had seemed to draw them together more 
closely than they had ever been before. 

And though Rosemary had earlier that morning 
inquired concerning the mysterious Mr. Johnson, 
she had received no satisfaction, and now she hoped 
to learn details. 

“ I had hoped not to be obliged to tell you of 
his business here,” Vincent said slowly, “ but his 


96 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


strange disappearance seems to make it advisable 
that I should do so. Yet,” he still hesitated, “ I 
cannot convince myself that the man is really miss¬ 
ing. I can’t help thinking he is about the place or 
in the house somewhere. He was so intensely inter¬ 
ested in the architecture of this house, he was so 
eager to go into every nook and cranny of it, may 
it not be possible that he has fallen asleep in some 
unused room, or even, perhaps, met with an accident 
while climbing from one place to another? ” 

“ Are there such dangerous places? ” asked Lane. 

“Oh, yes; at least, they might be dangerous to an 
adventurous stranger. You see, there are upwards 
of fifty rooms in the house, and there are turret 
rooms, to enter which one must step out on the 
leads; also, there are dark dungeon-like rooms down 
in the sub-cellar where if one were to stumble and 
fall, perhaps breaking a leg or even spraining an 
ankle, his cries might not be heard by the household.” 

“ You think Mr. Johnson, a transient guest, 
would go down in your sub-cellar alone, at night, in 
utter darkness? ” and Lane looked astounded. 

“I merely suggest it,” Vincent said, looking 
harassed, “ because he was apparently out of his 
bedroom all night, and because he showed such extra¬ 
ordinary interest in the construction of the house.” 


WHERE WAS JOHNSON 


97 


“ Very well, Mr. Vincent, if you wish to wait 
until further search can be made for the gentleman 
before revealing the secret of his errand here, we will 
wait. You had better send some of your people to 
look over the house at once. But in the meantime, I 
will ask you for the details of his arrival, and a 
description of the man/’ 

“ He came here yesterday afternoon/' Vincent 
began, slowly. “ He sent in no card, but told my 
butler his name was Henry Johnson, and he wished 
to see me on important and private business. I 
rarely see callers who are not known to me, but I 
was not busy at the moment, and I had him shown 
in. His errand was really a simple business proposi¬ 
tion, which involved a large investment of money if 
I saw fit to take it up. I called my sister down to 
consult with us, as her fortune is about the same as 
my own, and we usually made our investments to¬ 
gether. I will tell you the full details of this business 
plan later,—if Mr. Johnson cannot be found. If 
he does turn up, I feel sure he would prefer the 
matter kept confidential. 

“ Well, Mr. Johnson proved to be a fairly agree¬ 
able guest, though not at all distinguished in any 
way. As we had not come to final decisions, I 


7 


98 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


invited him to remain overnight. Also, as my sister 
and I had just about concluded to accept his proposi¬ 
tions, and as the man was so enthralled with Great- 
larch, I invited him to remain here a week and enjoy 
the beauties of the place.” 

“ He was with you all the evening? ” 

“ After dinner he sat with us in my own private 
room until our plans were pretty well made regard¬ 
ing the venture he proposed. Then my sister grew 
weary, and concluded to retire, all three of us agree¬ 
ing to draw up contracts and settle the business 

f 

finally in the morning.” 

“ And you went upstairs with your sister? ” 

“ Yes, as I always do. The doctor prescribes a 
certain sleeping draught for her, which must be 
carefully measured. I have no doubt of her careful¬ 
ness and accuracy, but to be on the safe side, I have 
always measured the medicine myself. Moreover, 
my sister appreciated my little courtesy of escorting 
her to her room, so I have always made it a practice. 
Sometimes I remain for a little chat, but last night, 
having a guest, I went downstairs again after saying 
good night.” 

“You rejoined Mr. Johnson?” 

“Yes; I found him wandering about the halls, 


WHERE WAS JOHNSON 


99 


rapt in admiration of the choice marbles, of which, 
it seems, he is a connoisseur. I led him about 
through many of the rooms, even going with him 
nearly to the top of the house,—there are nine sto¬ 
ries, counting the basements. As we came down 
from the upper floors, we reached the room destined 
for his use. It is one of the south rooms. 

“ He duly admired it, and after asking him if 
he had everything he wanted for the night, and 
being assured that he had, I bade him good night 
and left him there; telling him, however, that if he 
wished to prowl about he was at liberty to do so. In 
this house, no one is surprised or alarmed to hear 
footfalls during the small hours. We are all wake¬ 
ful, and frequently go up or down stairs on various 
trifling errands.” 

“ And you heard Mr. Johnson prowling about in 
the night? ” 

“ No, I can’t say that I did. Yet he may have 
done so, for the rugs are thick and soft, and with 
care one may make no noise.” 

“ Then the last you saw of this man was when 
you left him in his bedroom? ” 

“ Yes, that was the last I saw of him. He was 
in good spirits, for he had achieved his purpose in 




100 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


coming here. He was satisfied with the agreement 
we had come to, and he looked forward to the morn¬ 
ing, when we would sign the final contracts, and also, 
when he would remain as my guest for a time.” 

“ And then, this morning, he has disappeared? ” 

“ He is not here, certainly, but I can’t think it 
is a mysterious disappearance. He may have gone 
for a very early morning walk, and met with some 
untoward accident. Or he may have remembered 
some important business matter, and walked down 
to the village to telegraph or something of that sort. 
I only suggest these things, because they are to my 
mind more probable than that the man has volun¬ 
tarily or purposely gone away. Yet there may be 
a mystery about it, and it may be we shall never 
see him again. Those things I trust the detectives 
will delve into.” 

Vincent leaned back in his chair, looking not so 
much physically wearied with the conversation as 
mentally and nervously exhausted by the strain of 
the situation. 

“ What does Johnson look like? ” Lane asked. 

“ Describe him, Mellish,” Homer Vincent said, 
feeling he could delegate this task to another. 

“ Well,” the butler said, speaking slowly, but 
concisely; “ he is a medium-size man, and a medium- 


WHERE WAS JOHNSON 


101 


weight man. He’s well enough shaped, but he has 
no carriage—” 

“ Carriage? ” interrupted Lane. 

“ Yes, sir, carriage, I said. Meaning he don’t 
bear himself with any distinguishment,—as a gentle¬ 
man should.” 

A gleam of amusement passed across Vincent’s 
face at this, but he immediately resumed his look of 
weary sadness. 

“ Not but what he knew how to behave proper; 
he was all right at the table, and that,—but I should 
say he is not really an aristocrat.” 

“ Don’t be too severe, Mellish,” Vincent admon¬ 
ished him; “I think Mr. Johnson had good 
manners.” 

“ Good manners, yes,” Mellish granted, “ but, 
well, he was lacking in cultural background.” 

Some of the hearers stared at this phrase from 
the butler’s lips, but those of the household knew 
Mellish’s trick of picking up phrases overheard at 
his master’s table and, later, using them, either rightly 
or wrongly, in his own conversation. 

Vincent smiled outright, and even Rosemary’s 
sorrowful face showed amused appreciation. 

Lane repeated the phrase in bewilderment. 


102 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


“ What I say/' returned the unabashed Mellish. 
do you mean? ” 

“ Cultural background!” he exclaimed; “what 
“ Mr. Johnson, I feel sure, is not accustomed to 
mingle in the best of social circles; he has no phrases 
or allusions in his speech that betoken the college 
man or the student of life and literature.” 

“ Perhaps you’d better confine yourself to his 
physical description, Mellish,” Vincent suggested, 
“ and omit your opinion of his mentality.” 

“ Yes, sir. Then, Mr. Johnson is a very dark¬ 
faced man,—dark hair, eyes, and skin. He wears a 
small black moustache, and under it his white teeth 
gleam like those of some ferocious animal. His 
countenance is what may be called sinister,—yes, 
sir,—sinister. In a word, Mr. Henry Johnson has 
the face of a murderer.” 

Mrs. Mellish gave a sudden gasp, Rosemary 
turned white, and Homer Vincent stared at his butler. 

4 

“ Yes, a murderer,” Mellish repeated; “ and he’s 
the villain what did for our Miss Anne! How can 
it be otherwise? In comes a stranger, has secret 
dealings with master and Miss Anne,—him all the 
time looking like a murderer, if ever man did! 






WHERE WAS JOHNSON 


103 


Comes morning, he’d fled, his bed not touched, his 
hat and coat left behind him, and the dear lady dead 
in her bed! What else could be the exclamation? ” 

Mellish’s habit of miscalling a word provoked no 
smile this time, for everybody was startled at his 
idea, and was turning it over mentally, with 
deep interest. 

At last, Doctor Archer said coldly, “ Can any 
one suggest a motive for such a deed on the part 
of Mr. Johnson? ” 

“ No, and I can’t think of him as the criminal,” 
said Vincent, thoughtfully. “ And yet, if Johnson 
never appears again, it does seem a way to look.” 

“Of course it’s a way to look!” Brown cried 
eagerly. “ The only way to look, as yet. Who else 
could get into the house, with the night watchman 
on duty? Who else is a possible suspect in a house 
of devoted servants and loving relatives? Why 
else would Johnson disappear? What else would 
explain his unused bed? A man doesn’t wander 
about the whole night, admiring house decorations, 
however beautiful! ” 

“All true, Brown,” said Brewster, slowly, K but 
we must get more data before we assume anything. 
This man’s room, now. Much could doubtless be 


104 SPOOKY HOLLOW 

learned from examination of his belongings. Had 
he any luggage? ” 

“ A kit-bag,” Mellish informed. “ A new one, 
not overly large. I laid out his night things,—right 
and proper enough, but not elaborate or fine. And 
all new.” 

“ That’s always suspicious,” declared the quick¬ 
witted Brown. “ When a man has a lot of new 
things, it means he wants to conceal his identity.” 

“ But Johnson didn’t,” Vincent told them. “ He 
told his name and address straightforwardly enough; 
he had to, for us to come to a business agreement.” 

“ Yes, that’s so,” and Brown looked a little 
crestfallen. “ Go on, Mellish, as to his kit. Any¬ 
thing more personal than clothing and toilet things ?” 

“ Not as I recollect. But the room hasn’t been 
touched, sir; you can go up and deduce it whenever 
vou wish.” 

Mellish was sure of his word this time. 

“ Let’s go now, Brewster,” cried Brown; “ the 
chap may come back any minute.” 

The two detectives went up to the room in ques¬ 
tion, while the others remained downstairs. 

The windows were not wide, but owing to the 
thickness of the stone wall they were very deep. 


WHERE WAS JOHNSON 


105 


Brown leaned far out of one, and drawing back 
into the room, informed Brewster that nobody could 
get in or out by that means. The room was on the 
third floor, and the stone wall was unscalable. 

“ Well, Pighead,’’ Brewster returned, amiably, 
“ nobody has suspected Friend Johnson of making 
his exit otherwise than by this door; why the fuss 
about the window?” 

“ But how did he get out of the house by the 
front door without being seen by the watchman? 
If he could have made any other getaway, it would 
simplify matters a lot.” 

“ Don’t hope to simplify matters yet, my son. 
This is a stupendous case—” 

“ Don’t talk like that parrot-tongued butler! 
Stupendous is a silly word. But the case is a corker! 
I’ll admit that! ” 

“ Yes, that’s what I meant by stupendous. Now, 
as you can see for yourself, there’s absolutely noth¬ 
ing to be learned from this bag or its contents. It 
isn’t unpacked at all,—just as the man left it. Noth¬ 
ing in it but a change of underclothing, a pair of 
socks, a timetable, a clothesbrush—” 

“ Here are a few things on the dresser,” Brown 
said. “ But nothing personal. See, the brushes are 


106 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


plain black rubber, without monogram or initials. 
Here in the top drawer, we see three or four clean 
handkerchiefs, a necktie, and a pair of gloves. 
Doubtless the good Mellish put these here, by way 
of arranging his wardrobe.” 

“ Yes, of course. Not a thing marked, not a 
thing personal or different from hundreds of other 
men’s belongings.” 

“ Here’s his hat and coat. Old Sherlock would 
size him up perfectly just from the hat alone.” 

“ Well, I can’t; I don’t see anything but a plain 
black Derby, this season’s style, new,—like every¬ 
thing else!—and bought at Knox’s in New York. 
Small help in that.” 

“ And his coat is no better. New, too, bought at 
Rogers, Peet and Co.’s, also in New York. Does 
the chap hail from New York? ” 

“ I don’t know. Mr. Vincent can tell us that. 
But I’ll say Johnson is the one to look to as a poten¬ 
tial murderer, at any rate. Think so? ” 

“ Yes, but he doesn’t seem to be a man of any 
forceful personality, so far.” 

“ That’s the beauty of it! You see, if he is the 
murderer he would come here all togged out in 


WHERE WAS JOHNSON 


107 


clothes and things, new and unmarked, just to pre¬ 
vent the disclosure of his identity.” 

“ Something in that, by Jove! Now, if we can 
circumvent his bright idea,—I mean, find some 
purely personal thing that he has overlooked, we’ll 
hoist him with his own petard! ” 

“Well, here’s the thing! See, an atomizer,— 
isn’t that what you call these little sprayers ? It was 
on the washstand.” 

Brewster looked at the glass container and its 
black rubber spray with interest. 

“ Good as far as it goes,” he said. “ Where’s the 
bottle of medicine that belongs with it? ” 

“ Don’t see any. Well, I’ll leave it where I found 
it. Let’s go back downstairs.” 


CHAPTER VI 


THE WILD HARP 


Mellish had detailed two of the servants to 
search the house and grounds thoroughly for the 
missing Johnson. 

This was easily done, for the men were familiar 
with all the unused rooms and all the dark passages 
and dungeon-like spaces in the cellar and sub-cellar. 

They returned with the report that there was 
positively no one concealed in the house and no sign 
of any one about the grounds. 

“ It’s clear enough to me,” said Doctor Archer, 
“ that the missing man is the criminal we are in 
search of. Had he met with an accident, he would 
have been found, even though injured or dead. As 
it is, he has evidently disappeared of his own voli¬ 
tion and intentionally. What can we assume, then, 
but that he is the murderer and has fled? ” 


“ Then, Mr. Vincent,” Lane said, “ I think you 


should now tell us all you know about the man and 
what business brought him here.” 

“ Willingly,” Homer Vincent answered, “ but,” 
108 



THE WILD HARP 


109 


he added, “ I cannot conceive why he should have 
killed my sister,—or how he accomplished it.” 

“ That is for us to discover,” Lane said, a little 
pompously. “ But, first, Doctor Archer, how long 
do you judge Miss Vincent had been dead when 
you arrived? ” 

“ That is the most surprising part of it,” Archer 
replied. “ It is not often possible to affirm positively 
as to that matter, but allowing a wide margin of 
probability, I feel sure that death occurred not more 
than three hours before I made the examination of 
the body.” 

Vincent looked at the speaker with an amazed 
face. 

“ Why,” he exclaimed, “ that would mean that 
my sister was—was killed only about an hour before 
we broke into her room! ” 

“ That is my report,” Archer said, decidedly. 
“ As I say, it is hard to tell with certainty, but death 
must have occurred as late as seven o’clock this 
morning.” 

“ Then,” said Mellish, who in the stress of the 
occasion was joining in the conversation, “ then, that 
man, that murderer, waited till Hoskins went off 
duty, and then he killed Miss Anne and immejitly 
made himself scarce! You’ll never see him again! ” 


110 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


“ But why ,—why would he kill her? ” Vincent 
persisted. “ However, if he did,—he’s the man we 
want and he must be found. I’ll tell you all I know 
about him. In fact, I have told you all, except the 
nature of his business here. It was this. He claims 
to have discovered or invented a way to make what 
are known as synthetic rubies. This is not unheard 
of among chemists and the results of attempts, so 
far, are well known to lapidaries and to jewelers. 
But Johnson declared that his process was so far 
above and beyond all others in point of merit and 
value, that if he could make and market his wares it 
would mean a revolution in the jewel business and a 
colossal fortune for the inventor and his backer. 
For, of course, his plan was for me to finance the 
project, he putting his knowledge and experience 
against my money investment. Then he proposed 
we divide evenly the profits. This, in a nutshell, is 
the gist of his business here. I am not one who is 
easily persuaded to invest in an unknown venture, 
but the way he talked proved to me that he knew his 
subject thoroughly, and the proofs he showed of 
success already attained, made me give the matter 
deep consideration. 

“ I called my sister in to the discussion, not only 


THE WILD HARP 


111 


because I wished to give her an opportunity to share 
in the undertaking if she chose, but also because I 
place great reliance on her good judgment and sound 
advice. Somewhat to my surprise, she was enthusi¬ 
astic over the plan, and wanted to put in a large 
sum of money.” 

“Does it, then, require such an outlay to attain 
the desired end?” asked Archer, greatly interested. 

“ Yes, and I was convinced of it by the statistics 
and verified data that Mr. Johnson showed me. He 
also had with him two rubies which he had himself 
manufactured, and which a leading jewelry firm had 
declared genuine stones. I have those still in my 
possession, in my safe, and I will show them to 
you, whenever you like. My sister was entranced 
with their beauty and luster. After our afternoon 
confab, my sister wore down to dinner a fine and 
perfect ruby of her own, for the purposes of com¬ 
parison. I could see no difference in the real and 
the false.” 

“ So you decided to finance his project, Mr. 
Vincent?” Brewster asked, respectfully. 

“ I had practically so decided, but we were to 
confer further this morning, and if we agreed on 
certain unsettled points in the contract, I was quite 


112 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


ready to sign it and so was my sister. It meant a 
large outlay of money for laboratories and materials, 
but we were firmly assured we would get it back 
many times over. That, Doctor Archer, was the 
business that brought Henry Johnson to my door, 
and if I hesitated to make it public, it was because 
I felt a certain duty to him. Since he has so surely 
disappeared, and since there is a reason to believe 
him a criminal, of course, I am absolved from my 
promise of secrecy.” 

“ Where is Miss Vincent’s rubv? ” asked Brown 
suspiciously; “ maybe he took that with him.” 

Vincent looked startled. 

“She had it on when I bade her good night,” 
he said, thinking back; “ she always cares for it 
herself—call Francine, Mellish.” 

The maid appeared, and Vincent asked her con¬ 
cerning the jewel. 

“ But yes,” she answered, “ Miss Vincent had it 
on last evening. When disrobing, she put it in her 
wall safe, as usual. Is it not there? ” 

“Go and see,” directed Vincent. “You can 
open it? ” 

“ Oh, yes, Miss Vincent trusted me with the 
combination.” 





THE WILD* HARP 


113 


“ I’ll just go along,” Brown said, and the two 
left the room. 

“ I am frightened to go in,” said Francine, 
crossing herself as they reached the threshold. 

“ Why?” 

“ Miss Anne—she is there—and yet—not there!” 

“Well, she can’t hurt you! Come along. Are 
you superstitious?” 

“ No—yes, I am! And last night, the Wild 
Harp played! Did you know that? ” 

“What’s the Wild Harp?” 

“ It’s a spirit harp, played by phantom fingers. 
The fingers, monsieur, of the dead lady—” 

“ Miss Vincent?” 

“ Oh, no, no,—the lady who was long time ago 
dead—in this very room—this same room, mon¬ 
sieur, and again a deed of blood! ” 

“ I see; you mean Mrs. Lamont.” 

“Yes, Madame Lamont,—she was murdered, 
or, she killed herself,—it is not known which,—and 
of a truth, often she plays the Wild Harp, and 
always there follows disaster.” 

“ H’m, interesting. And where is the harp? 
In the music room? ” 

“No, monsieur, it is out in the dismal—the 


8 


114 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 




black thicket. Back of the Temple that is her tomb. 
There is the Wild Harp, there, among the desolation 
—the somber shadows, the soughing pines, where the 
gloom is deepest, there the Lady Lamont walks by 
herself and moans, or plays wailing strains on the 
Wild Harp.” 

“Tell me more about this some other time, Fran- 
cine. We’re sent on an errand, you know. Come 
on in; don’t be foolish.” 

With shuddering glances toward the still figure 
on the bed, Francine followed the detective into 
the room. 

A guard stationed outside the door said nothing 
and made no move. 

At Brown’s command, Francine tried to open 
the small safe in the wall, but her fingers trembled 
so, she could scarce control them. 

“What a baby you are! ” cried Brown, though 
his glance at the pretty French girl was not severe. 
“ Tell me the letters, I’ll do it.” 

“ No, it is my trust,” and whirling the dial, 
Francine at last threw open the safe door. 

“Mon Dieu, it is gone!” she cried; “the great 
ruby is gone! All else is here, yes, here is the 
diamond cross and the emerald bracelet—only the 






THE WILD HARP 


115 


ruby is missing. The beast! The murderous beast! 
I knew he was the bad one! His blackness—ugh! ” 

More by gestures than by words did Francine 
express her detestation of the man and her distress 
at the discovery of the loss. 

“ You’re sure, Francine? ” Brown persisted. 

“ Oh, yes, always the ruby reposed in this case, 
see! Now, the case is empty! ” 

“ Well, I’m not overly surprised. Johnson is 
certainly the villain! Come on, we must go down 
and report/’ 

Francine closed and locked the safe, and, dabbing 
at her eyes with a minute handkerchief drawn from 
her foolish little apron pocket, she went obediently 
downstairs. 

Brewster heard of the stolen ruby with a certain 
feeling of satisfaction. It was all in keeping that 
the maker of synthetic rubies should purloin a 
real one—even at the price of becoming a mur¬ 
derer thereby. 

“ Johnson’s your man,” he declared. “ All 
we’ve got to do now, is to nab him. And that’s not 
so hard as you may think. Mr. Vincent has his 
address, and sooner or later the man must return to 
his home,—even if secretly. We’ll get him! ” 


116 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


“ I can’t understand it—” Vincent looked be¬ 
wildered, “ How did he do it? How did he get the 
safe open? How did he kill my sister? It is all too 
unbelievable,—too mysterious—” 

“ It is! ” declared Rosemary, her attitude of 
sorrowful dejection suddenly giving way to a burst 
of indignation; “ that was to be my ruby! Antan 
left it to me in her will,—she told me so! ” 

No one thought the girl mercenary, or criticized 
her for this speech. It was natural that the news 
of the theft should call forth such regret from the 
one whose property it was meant to be. 

“ Poor child,” said her uncle, “ that is true. 
My sister did intend for you to have the jewel. Will 
troubles never end, Rosemary?” 

“ Oh, Uncle, I fear they have only just begun. 
I—I heard the Harp last night—” 

She stopped as a shade of annoyance crossed her 
uncle’s face. 

Homer Vincent always frowned at mention of 
the mysterious harp. He declared there could be 
no truth in the tales about it, that no sounds were 
ever heard from the dense thicket that the townsfolk 
had dubbed “ Spooky Hollow.” 

Nor was it an inappropriate name. On either 







THE WILD HARP 


117 


side of the marble Temple were beautiful pine trees 
and larches, and a background of these threw out 
the shining whiteness in fine relief. But further 
back still, was a deep thicket of lower growth, 
dwarfed trees, tangled shrubs and vines, marshy 
swamp ground, that, after a long rain, showed dark 
pools of ooze and murky patches of soggy ground. 

Lower than the rest of the estate, it sloped still 
farther downward to a deep ravine, which, filled with 
a wild growth, was so picturesque, and also so diffi¬ 
cult of access, that Homer Vincent had put off clear¬ 
ing it out to a future time that had not yet arrived. 

The unhindered growth of the trees and the 
rank and luxuriant undergrowth had, of course, 
taken place during the long years that the house 
stood vacant, and it was also during this period that 
the term Spooky Hollow came into use. 

Many stories were current of weird sounds heard 
from the Hollow, of ghostly shapes seen flitting 
there, of mysterious lights flaring for a moment, 
now and then. 

Many of the townspeople pooh-poohed these sto¬ 
ries, but there were many more who believed the 
reports. 

When the Vincents first came, it had been hard 



118 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


to persuade servants to remain with them. But 
enormous wages and tempting conditions had 
brought many permanent retainers and Mrs. Mel- 
lish’s wise government and kindly heart had secured 
others, so that now a vacancy on the staff was 
besieged by applicants. 

Yet tales persisted of hauntings and apparitions, 
prominent among them being the stories of a phan¬ 
tom harp that was played upon only on dark nights, 
and that gave forth long, wailing strains as of a 
soul in anguish. 

As it was a fact that Mrs. Lamont met a violent 
death in her room, the same one Anne Vincent had 
occupied, it was not strange that this harp music was 
attributed to her restless spirit. 

Anne Vincent herself had taken no interest in 
the ghost stories, her hard-headed practicality refus¬ 
ing to credit a word of them. 

But she had reluctantly admitted having heard 
the Harp once or twice, though afterward declaring 
it must have been her imagination. 

Rosemary was uncertain whether she believed in 
the spooks of Spooky Hollow or not. She had 
heard, or had thought she heard, the Wild Harp, but 
she was never inclined to talk on the subject and 







THE WILD HARP 


119 


indeed, except among the servants, it was not often 
discussed at Greatlarch. 

And so, when Rosemary declared she had heard 
the Harp the night of her aunt’s death, Homer Vin¬ 
cent looked at her in astonishment. 

“ Rosemary,” he said, “ I beg of you—at such 
a time—” 

“ But, Uncle, I did—I did hear it just after I 
came in—” 

“At what time did you come in?” he asked, 
and then poor Rosemary wished she had not spoken. 

But he was quite evidently awaiting an answer, 
so the girl said, falteringly, “ I’m afraid I was a little 
late,—I didn’t mean to be.” 

“ How late? ” asked Vincent, inexorably. 

“ After midnight,” and the girl’s appealing eyes 
seemed to beg him not to reprimand her then 
and there. 

Nor did he. With a slight sigh, he merely said, 
“You know my wishes, Rosemary. I am sorry you 
so persistently disregard them.” 

“ You came home at midnight, Miss Vincent? ” 
said Brewster, hoping to glean information of 


some sort. 


120 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


“ Yes; I dined with a friend over on Spruce Hill 
Road, and she sent me home in her motor. I left 
the car at our avenue and walked to the house.” 

“ In order to conceal the fact of your late re¬ 
turn,” observed Vincent. 

“Yes, Uncle,” Rosemary admitted, and her 
brown eyes fell before his reproachful gaze. 

But Brewster went on: “ Tell me, Miss Vin¬ 
cent,” he said, “ did you see or hear anything unusual 
when you entered the house? ” 

“ Nothing at all,” she replied. “ I had my own 
night key, but I did not use it, as Hoskins had not 
yet locked the front door.” 

Brown looked at her closely. 

“ Miss Vincent,” he said, “ you did not come 
directly into the house. You walked around the 
northwest Tower and back before coming in at the 
front door.” 

The girl’s face expressed utter amazement. 

“ That is quite true,” she said, “ but how ever 
did you know it? ” 

Rosemary’s face betokened merely surprise, not 
alarm, but Brown continued to quiz her. 

“ You paused at the window of that Tower, and 








THE WELD HARP 


121 


stood there some moments. Why did you do that? ” 

His eyes narrowed as he looked at her, and his 
voice was curiously tense. 

Rosemary rather resented this catechism, and 
then she quickly realized that the detectives had a 
right to question her, and moreover, that she must 
tell the truth. 

“ Tell me how you know I did that, and Eli tell 
you why I did it,” she returned. 

Susceptible young Brown was fascinated by the 
charm of the appealing eyes, and the piquant little 
face, animated now by curiosity. 

“Not a difficult bit of deduction,” he said; “I 
saw footprints in the snow along the front portico 
and round the Tower when I came this morning. 
They were made by slender, feminine shoes, and I 
think now they were yours.” 

“ I daresay,” said Rosemary, indifferent now 
that the mystery was explained. “ Well, I stepped 
around there because I saw by the light that my 
uncle was probably there, and I wanted to size up 
my chance of getting into the house unnoticed.” 

Homer Vincent looked at her with disapproval, 
but Brown suppressed a chuckle. 


122 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


“ Not really afraid of the old man,” he silently 
decided. “ Guess his bark is worse’n his bite.” 

“ What was your uncle doing? ” asked Brewster, 
casually. 

“ He was looking over some papers,—and he had 
something in his hand that glittered—” 

“The two synthetic rubies that Mr. Johnson left 
with me,” Vincent explained. “I will answer que¬ 
ries pertaining to myself, if you please.” 

Brewster felt a little abashed. Homer Vincent 
had a gift of making people feel abashed when 
he chose. 

“ May I see those rubies, Mr. Vincent? ” asked 
Lane. 

“ Certainly, I’ll fetch them,” and Vincent left 
the room. 

“ Did it look like a ruby, the object your uncle 
was holding? ” Brewster inquired of Rosemary. 

The girl looked at him and instinctively disliked 
his manner. 

“ My uncle prefers that questions about himself 
should be addressed to him,” she said, coolly, and 
again Brown had hard work to repress a smile of 
amusement at his colleague’s discomfiture. 



THE WILD HARP 


123 


The two detectives worked harmoniously and in 
unison, but there was a slight feeling of rivalry that 
was, perhaps, not to be wondered at. Moreover, 
both of them were greatly impressed with the 
gravity of the case, the magnificence of the house, 
and not least, by the winning personality of 
Rosemary Vincent. 

“ Then proceed with your own story, Miss Vin¬ 
cent,” Brewster said, a little curtly. “ After looking 
in on your uncle, did you at once enter the house? ” 

“Yes, I thought from his manner he was mean¬ 
ing to stay where he was for some time. So I went 
back to the front door, and softly opened it and 
slipped in. Well, of all things, if Uncle Homer 
didn’t start that very minute to go upstairs! I was 
so afraid he’d see me, I scuttled behind one of the 
big pillars in the hall, and waited till he passed me. 
I scarcely dared breathe! But he didn’t hear me,— 
he went on up the staircase, and—” 

“ And you followed after a discreet interval.” 

“ Well, yes,—but in that interval I went to the 
dining-room and ate a bit of luncheon that Mellish 
had left there for me.” 

A smile of respectful affection crossed the face 
of the butler as he regarded the girl. 


124 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


“ But you had just come from a dinner party! ” 

“ Oh, but dinner was at seven-thirty, and since 

then, we had danced till after midnight, and had no 
» 

other refreshments.” 

“ I see. Well, then after your supper, you went 
upstairs? ” 

Rosemary suddenly saw she was practically on 
the witness stand. 

This did not disturb her, it only served to make 
her more careful of her statements. 

“Yes,” she said, slowly. “ I went upstairs, and 
as it is my habit to stop in my aunt’s room to say 
good night, if she is awake, I listened at her door. 
But her regular, deep breathing told me that she 
was asleep, so I went on to my own apartments.” 

“ You did not know Mr. Johnson was in the 
house? ” 

“ No, I had no way of knowing that.” 

“ You saw the night watchman as you came in? ” 
“Not as I came in, but while I was in the 
dining-room, Hoskins looked in. We nodded at 
each other and he went on.” 

“ May I see Hoskins? ” Lane asked, abruptly. 
Mellish went to summon the watchman, who, 


THE WELD HARP 


125 


though usually asleep at this hour, was still in the 
servants’ sitting-room, gossiping over events. 

He came back with Mellish, and was ready, even 
anxious, to answer questions. 

“ Yes, sir,” he informed them, “ I saw Miss 
Rosemary a eatin’ of her little supper, and I went on 
about my business.” 

“ Did you see Mr. Johnson walking about the 
house or grounds through the night? ” 

“ That I did not, or I’d reported it, you may 
be sure.” 

“ Is it necessary to report the wanderings if a 
guest of the house ? ” 

“ Well, I’ve never seen this Mr. Johnson they tell 
of, and if I’d a seen him outside the house, I’d hardly 
taken him for a guest. We ain’t never had such 
guests as that. But if I’d a seen him a walkin’ about 
inside, like as not I’d a supposed he was a visitor and 
let it go at that. You can’t tell just what you’d do 
in such cases, less’n you’re there on the spot.” 

“ Then you saw no sign of anybody at all? ” 

“ No, sir. After Miss Rosemary went upstairs, 
I saw and heard no human bein’ till the stroke of 
seven sent me in to breakfast. That is, no 
human, sir.” 


126 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


“You mean to say you saw or heard something 
supernatural? ” 

“ That’s it, sir, the Wild Harp. She broke loose 
long about two or three o’clock, and such a wailin’ 
sound you never heard! ” 

“ Hoskins,” Homer Vincent spoke, as he came 
into the room again, “ you are too sensible to talk 
like that. There is no truth in those stories of a 

Wild Harp.” 

“ Have it your own way, sir,” and Hoskins 
cheerfully accepted the mild rebuff. 

“ There are the rubies, gentlemen,” Vincent said, 
laying two gleaming crimson stones on the table. 

“ What beauties! ” cried Doctor Archer. “ Do 
you mean to tell me these are synthetic? Made by 
that man, Johnson? ” 

“ So he affirmed. Of course, there’d be no sense 
in his making a false statement of that sort.” 

“Oh, Uncle, they’re wonderful!” exclaimed 
Rosemary. “ Can’t I have one of these now that 
Antan’s ruby is gone? ” 

“ Oh, Miss Rosemary, don’t think about foolish 
gewgaws with your poor aunt lying dead up above 
us! ” Mrs. Mellish showed a horrified surprise on 
her round, rosy face. “And you gentlemen may 


THE WELD HARP 


127 


search all you wish, you may do all the detective 
stunts you can pull off, never will you see that 
Johnson man again, and never will you learn any 
more about poor Miss Anne’s death than you know 
this minute! For I heard the Wild Harp last night, 
and it was a funeral dirge it played. The dear lady 
was killed by a haunt, that she was! Who else 
could get into her locked room? Who else could 
sperrit away Mr. Johnson? Tell me that now! She 
chose for her own the haunted room,—and she paid 
the penalty,—did poor Miss Anne! ” 


CHAPTER VII 




UNCLE AND NIECE 

The dreary November afternoon passed, and the 
shadows lengthened and deepened the gloom that 
hung over Greatlarch. 

The Avenue trees waved their long branches as 
a soughing wind swept through them. The pines 
sang and whistled and the dense tangle down behind 
the Mausoleum was black and eerie, more than ever 
justifying its name of Spooky Hollow. Mrs. 
Mellish stood staring out of a rear window, almost 
certain she could hear faint strains of the Wild Harp. 

“ Come away, now, Susan,” commanded her 
spouse. “ It’s no spook music you’ll hear, savin’ 
that which you make in your own ears—” 

“ Hush your blether, Mellish,—I want no cod¬ 
dlin’ from you.” And then, with true feminine in¬ 
consistency, she turned to her husband and threw 
herself into his arms, sobbing convulsively. 

“ Therey, therey, now, Soodie, cry an ye want to, 
it’ll do ye good,” and he patted her shoulder and 
smoothed her hair, and comforted her by his strong 
protecting arms. 









128 









UNCLE AND NIECE 


129 


“ It’s Miss Rosemary,” Susan said, wiping her 
eyes. “I can’t stand it to see the child so gone-like. 
She wanders about, her eyes wide and staring, and 
that full of sadness! ” 

“ She loved her Antan,—that she did,” and 
Mellish nodded his gray head. “ There’s a terrible 
moil, Susan. Who killed Miss Anne?—answer me 
that now! ” 

“ No mortal hand,” and Mrs. Mellish gazed 
solemnly into space. “ Never could a human hand 
do it, you see, for the door was locked, and the poor 
lady in there alone. Comes the ghost of the other 
lady who met her death in that very room, and,— 
the wicked, evil thing,—she killed our Miss Anne! 
Or where’s the knife? How could a human, mortal 
villain kill her and leave no w r eepon? Or how get 
out through a locked door ? Answer me that, 
Mellish, now! ” 

“ No, I can’t. Yet ’twas no spook, of that I’m 
certain! ” 

Susan Mellish held up her finger, listening. 

“ Hark at the organ, now,” she said; “ Master’s 
fair crazy with his grief! ” 

The great organ pealed and rolled its melodies 
through the house. Fugues and dirges of the great- 
9 


130 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


est masters were played with a strong, sure touch and 
a powerful, agonizing sorrow, like the cry of a 
lost soul. 

One funeral march after another sounded as 
Homer Vincent strove to quiet his perturbed spirit 
by the aid of his one great passion—music. 

Rosemary stood in the Atrium, looking through 
the plate-glass doors down across the terrace, across 
the lagoon to the white Mausoleum and to the black 
Spooky Hollow beyond it. 

She had put on a black dress, of plain and simple 
cut, and her white arms shone in the dusk as she 
leaned them up against the window and hid her face 
upon them. 

“If he doesn’t stop that music,” she thought, 
“ I shall go crazy! I never heard him play so like 
one inspired! It is heartrending, crucifying, yet it 
has a triumphant note,—like the triumph of Death. 
Poor Uncle Homer, he must be almost beside him¬ 
self with grief,—I know by the way he plays. And 
he has no other solace—I wish he would let me talk 
to him,—I’d like to talk about Antan—but he doesn’t 
want me to mention her name—” 

And then, through the long shadowy room, 
lighted only by a faint radiance from the Entrance 



UNCLE AND NIECE 


131 


Hall, came softly a footfall, and Rosemary turned 
to see Lulie Eaton, her friend whom she had visited 
the night before. 

“ Rosemary/’ and Lulie put her arms round 
her, “ I want you to go home with me, and stay a 
few days. At least, until the funeral. Won’t you? 
It will be so much better for you, and—your uncle 
won’t mind, will he?” 

“ I don’t know,” Rosemary hesitated; “ it’s good 
of you, Lulie,—I’d be glad to go,—if I ought to—” 

“ Of course you ought to,—you owe it to your¬ 
self to get out of this atmosphere—oh, have they 
found out anything—about—” 

“ About Antan? No, not a thing. The detec¬ 
tives are at their wits’ end, Uncle Homer is nearly 
distracted—listen to that awful music—” 

“ It is desperately sad, but, what a wonderful 
performer he is! ” 

“ Oh, yes,—there, now he is improvising,—that 
means he’s a little easier in his mind,—let’s go and 
ask him if I may go with you.” 

The two girls went to the organ room, the high 
walls and domed ceiling giving back the music and 
making the place seem more than ever like a church. 



132 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


With a feeling of awe, almost of fear, they tip¬ 
toed toward the silent figure on the organ bench. 

The light was low, the branches of the tall trees 
waved against the windows with weird sounds. 

Seeing the girls, Vincent paused, slowly trailing 
his softly touched chords off to nothingness. 

“ What is it, Rosemary? ” he said, wearily push¬ 
ing back the thick hair from his brow. “ How do 
you do, Miss Eaton ? ” 

Lulie Eaton dared her request. 

“ Oh, Mr. Vincent,” she said, “ Eve come to take 
Rosemary home with me for a few days,—mayn’t 
she go? ” 

"If she chooses.” Homer Vincent spoke coldly, 
and again his hands hovered above the keys. 

“ Oh, Uncle,” Rosemary cried, “ I won’t go if 
you don’t want me to, Uncle Homer. Indeed, 
I won’t.” 

“ Would you like to be left alone in this house, 
Rosemary?” Vincent asked, as, barely touching the 
keys, he made them sound like*a faint echo of a 
sweet, sad strain. 

“ No! ” and the girl shuddered at the thought. 

“ Yet you would leave me—” 

“ But I didn’t know you cared to have me here, 






UNCLE AND NIECE 


133 


Uncle. You don’t like to have me mention Antan, 
you don’t even talk to me—” 

“ My dear, there is some grief too deep for 
words,—yet human companionship is a help and a 
comfort, even though ordinary conversation is out 
of the question. And you can help by looking after 
the house. Can you not fill Antan’s place to a 
degree? Can you not order the meals and give out 
supplies,—or, [whatever your Aunt did?” 

Rosemary smiled a little at his idea of her 
Aunt’s duties. For, she thought, Miss Vincent did 
none of these things, the two Mellishes arranged all 
such details. But Vincent was not the sort of 
man who knew what was going on in the domes¬ 
tic department. 

However, Rosemary sensed the fact that her 
uncle wanted her to stay by him, if only as a moral 
support, and though she would have preferred to go 
with Lulie, yet she felt a certain pride in the idea 
that he wanted her at home. 

Not exactly afraid of her uncle, Rosemary never 
could quite conquer a feeling of awe of him, and a 
dread of running counter to his will in any way. 
But she had long ago learned that if conditions were 
right, if there was no flaw in the arrangements that 


134 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


made for his creature comfort, she need never look 
for any but the kindest and most courteous treatment 
from him. But if any of his orders were not fulfilled 
accurately, if any meal was a moment late, any 
course imperfectly cooked or served, any book or 
smoking-stand moved one iota from its accustomed 
place, then, as Rosemary had often had occasion to 
notice, his sister or his niece received, however unde¬ 
served, a portion of his reprimand. 

So Rosemary declined to go with her friend, and 
after a short visit, Lulie went off alone. 

“What were you two girls talking about?” 
Vincent asked, as he left the organ and joined Rose¬ 
mary in the living-room. 

The lights were on, now, and the beautiful room 
was warm and cheerful. 

But the girl seemed struck dumb. She blushed 
and remained silent, raising her troubled eyes to her 
uncle’s face only to drop them again in confusion. 

“ I can read your thoughts the same as if you 
had spoken, my dear,” her uncle said, a tinge of 
displeasure in his tone. “You talked of young 
Collins. Has he been here to see you? ” 

“ No, Uncle, not since you forbade it.” 

Rosemary’s tone was gentle, her voice steady, 





UNCLE AND NIECE 


135 


but in her golden-brown eyes there shone a sudden 
light, that was rebellious, almost mutinous. 

Vincent caught this gleam, and said, in real 
irritation, “ I do think, Rosemary, at this time, when 
I am in such deep grief, you might be less selfishly 
inclined to brood sullenly over your own petty griev¬ 
ances. You know my dislike for Bryce Collins, you 
know I will not hear of your marrying him; why 
not, then, give over thinking about it? ” 

“ Did you ever love anybody, Uncle? ” she asked, 
quietly, mentally adding, “ except yourself! ” 

Vincent gave her a curious glance, and then said, 
sadly, “ I loved your Aunt Anne. She was my dear 
sister, and now that she has been so terribly taken 
away from me,—away from us, I should think, 
Rosemary, that you would turn your thoughts to 
your great loss, even if you have no sympathy or 
sorrow for mine.” 

“ Oh, Uncle, don’t talk to me like that! I do feel 
sorry for you, I do grieve for Antan,—oh, I can’t 
realize she’s gone! What shall I do without her? ” 
“ A very grave question, my child. But now, we 
must make some necessary arrangements for the 
funeral. My sister must be buried with the dignity 
and beauty befitting her life. And you must help, 
for there are many details to be looked after.” 


136 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


“ Yes, Uncle, anything I can do to help or to 
lessen your load of care and responsibility, I am 
glad to undertake.” 

“ That’s the way to talk, my dear child. Now, 
listen and I’ll tell you what you can do.” 

And when the talk was over, Rosemary found 
herself weighted down with her share of the errands 
and arrangements necessary for the obsequies that 
Homer Vincent deemed appropriate for his sister. 

Not that he desired any ostentation or display. 

But his directions as to the music, the flowers, 
the clergyman’s address, the luncheon to be prepared 
for guests from a distance, and the thousand and one 
things that he mentioned seemed to Rosemary to 
make a task both burdensome and difficult. 

However, she relied on the Mellishes for much 
help, and she was so glad to be of some real assist¬ 
ance to her uncle, that she willingly promised all 
he asked. 

And then they drifted into a discussion of the 
terrible circumstances, as mysterious this minute as 
they had been early in the morning when the discov¬ 
ery had been made. 

“ Uncle,” Rosemary cried, “ who killed Antan, 


UNCLE AND NIECE 


137 


—and how? I must know those two things or I 
shall go out of my mind! I can’t conceive of any 
possible explanation, can you?” 

“No, Rosemary, I can’t. It is as great a mys¬ 
tery as it is a tragedy,—and I can’t say any more 
than that.” 

“ No, Uncle, we can’t say more than that. But 
somebody killed her,—that we know. How, then, 
did he get out of the room, and what did he do with 
the knife?” 

“ Those, Rosemary, are the unanswerable ques¬ 
tions. And I must say I don’t believe these dunder- 
headed detectives that are on the job can ever solve 
the mystery. Do you? ” 

“ Oh, I don’t know anything about such things, 
Uncle dear. But they do seem unable to discover 
anything or to suggest anything. Tell me more 
about that Johnson man, Uncle. Was he a— 
a gentleman? ” 

“ Why, no, Rosemary, not as we look upon a 
gentleman. Yet he had decent manners and pre¬ 
sentable appearance. I wish I had never seen him! ” 

“ Do you think he killed Antan? ” 

“ How can I say I think so, when I can’t imagine 
his motive for such a deed. Unless, of course, he 


138 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


stole her ruby. Too bad, dear,—that gem was to 
have been yours.” 

“ Yes, I know. But, Uncle, when a strange man 
comes here, and acts in such an extraordinary man¬ 
ner,—not going to bed at all,—and then mysteriously 
disappears, and we find Antan dead,—isn’t there 
logical reason to think maybe he did it? ” 

“ There certainly is, Rosemary, and I shall never 
rest till we find that man! It must be possible to 
find him. He can’t have dropped out of existence. 
But that’s where I thought the detectives would do 
better work. I supposed they would get on his 
trail somehow, almost immediately. I thought de¬ 
tectives could always trace a fugitive,—always find 
a skulking, hiding villain. But they seem not to 
know which way to turn! ” 

“ Yes, I noticed that. And that Mr. Lane knows 
even less, I should say.” 

“ Yes, he’s a numskull. But the little detective, 
that one called Brown, seems rather alert, and wide¬ 
awake, yet he can’t get anywhere, apparently; unless 
they do something soon, I shall call in a more 
expert detective.” 

“ Can you do that? Right over their heads, 
I mean? ” 



UNCLE AND NIECE 


139 


“ I most certainly shall. My sister’s death must 
be avenged, if any effort of mine can accomplish it. 
But I do admit it seems a problem impossible 
of solution.” 

“The facts are so irreconcilable,” the girl said, 
musingly. “ I can’t see any conceivable way the deed 
could have been done, and the room left locked and 
the weapon missing.” 

“ Rosemary, there’s only one explanation. But 

I am not yet quite able to believe in it.” Vincent’s 

voice was low and his direct gaze was so piercing, 

that the girl was startled. She felt an uncanny, a 

sinister presentiment of his meaning. 

“ Oh, Uncle Homer,” she cried, “ you don’t mean 

—vou can’t mean Mrs. Lamont—” She looked over 
* 

her shoulder, and out the window toward the Temple 
where once had rested the mortal remains of that 
other victim. 

“ I’ve always been a practical hard-headed unbe¬ 
liever in spiritualism,” Vincent said, slowly, “ but 
I am so staggered by this thing, so puzzled to think 
of any possible explanation, however improbable, 
that, as I say, I see no other way to look but toward 
the supernatural. Yet I will not as yet put myself 

% 

on record as going over to the spiritualistic belief, 


140 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


only, unless we can unearth some evidence, find some 
clues, I cannot say what I may do.” 

“ Uncle Homer,” and Rosemary’s face looked 
wondering, “ I heard the Harp last night.” 

“ You imagined it, dear. How could you hear 
what doesn’t exist? ” 

“ But I did,—I’m sure of it. It was between 
two and three o’clock. I was wakeful, and I was 
tempted to get up and go to some south window. 
But I didn’t, and yet, even in my own room, which 
is north, I heard faintly the low wailing strains of 
the Wild Harp. Have you never heard it, Uncle ? ” 

“ I have sometimes thought I did, child, but I 
put it down to imagination. Leave me now, Rose- 
mary,—I am very weary, and I must think over 
some matters by myself.” 

So Rosemary went in search of the two Mellishes 
and they discussed the arrangements for the funeral 
services of Anne Vincent. 

To Rosemary’s own surprise, but not to Mrs. 
Mellish’s, it soon transpired that the girl was not 
at all wise or experienced in household matters. 
Anne Vincent had been the guiding spirit, the direct¬ 
ing hand of the establishment, and though she had 
occasionally called on her niece for some slight 




UNCLE AND NIECE 


141 


assistance, it was always mere routine work, and 
carefully under the elder woman’s own supervision. 

So when the cook began to ask about how many 
chickens and hams should be prepared for the cold 
luncheon, and what sweets should be provided, 
Rosemary found herself quite at sea, and told Mrs. 
Mellish and her husband to get whatever they 
deemed best. 

“ That’s all very well,” and Melly shook her 
head; “all very well, Miss Rosemary,—but your 
uncle won’t like it a bit, if you don’t fill your aunt’s 
place. Many’s the little thing she did for him, 
many’s the time she looked out for him and stood 
between him and some bit of a bother. Be careful 
now 7 , Miss Rosemary, to do such things yourself. 
Keep a constant watch on your uncle. See that 
everything is ready to his hand when he reaches out 
his hand to get it—meaning, of course, such as is 
outside the duties of me and Mellish.” 

“I don’t know what you mean, Melly. What 
am I to do? Darn his socks,—that sort of thing? ” 

“ That, of course, Miss—and his buttons and all. 
But hand him a paper or a book that he’s glancing 
about for,—offer to play Russian Bank with him, 
when he’s in just the mood for it,—gather from 


142 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


his symptoms what sort of food he’ll want for din¬ 
ner,—that’s the way Miss Anne looked after him.” 

“ Good gracious, Melly, I can’t do those things! 
Why, I don’t know how to play that stupid old card 
game! And I didn’t know he had symptoms!” 

“You must learn, then, Miss Rosemary.” 
Mellish himself spoke now, and very seriously. 
“ Your uncle is a good man and a kind man if 
he is comfortable. If not,—oh, well, Miss, you 
know him! ” 

“Of course I do. And I know you two look out 
for all his real wants. I’ll do anything I can, of 
course, but I guess he’ll have to diagnose his own 
symptoms, and select his special foods himself. As to 
this luncheon, Melly, order whatever you think best. 
Be sure to have enough, that’s all, for relatives and 
friends will come from all the country round. And, 
Melly, I don’t know much about ordering and such 
things. Antan never let me help her much or tried 
to teach me anything about housekeeping.” 

“ You should know, Miss Rosemary. It’s right 
every young lady should be a housekeeper, such as 
your aunt, rest her soul, was. Now, if you’ll let me. 
I’ll teach you, and you’ll soon learn, for you’ve a 
quick wit and handy fingers.” 




UNCLE AND NIECE 


143 


“ All right, Melly, and we’ll begin after all this 
trouble has cleared up a little. Melly, who killed 
Antan ? ” 

“ The Ghost Lady, Miss Rosemary. Didn’t I 
hear her playin’ on her Wild Harp—” 

“ Why, so did I, Melly. What time did you 
hear it?” 

“As it might be say two or three o’clock of the 
mornin’, Miss.” 

“That’s the very time I heard it! Melly, how 
could a ghost kill anybody, with a dagger? ” 

“ Likewise, Miss Rosemary, how could a human 
kill anybody with a dagger, and go away leaving 
the door locked behind him ? ” 

Mellish, who had mysteriously disappeared, re¬ 
turned and whispered to the girl. 

“ I opine, Miss Rosemary,” he said, softly, “ if 
you was to step out this little back door now,—just 
step out, you know,—you might—well, just step out 
now. I opine you won’t be sorry.” 

Having more than a suspicion of what Mellish 
was opining about, Rosemary stepped out of the 
small door that gave on an areaway. 

As she had hoped, there stood the tall, thin 
form of Bryce Collins. 


144 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


“ Oh/’ she whispered, “ you ought not to have 
come—how did you dare? ” 

“I felt I must see you, Rosemary; it’s too utterly 
absurd to be forbidden the house,—for no reason 
at all—” 

“ I know it, Bryce,—but Uncle Homer is terribly 
upset anyway, and if he sees you—” 

“ He won’t see me. I just want a few minutes 
with you, dear. Can’t we go inside,—somewhere? ” 
“No, I don’t dare. Melly has just been telling 
me I must look after Uncle Homer as Antan used 
to. And, surely, I can’t allow anything that he has 
so positively forbidden. He’d—oh, I don’t know 
what he’d do! ” 

“ What would he do, dear? Fly in a passion? ” 
“ No, I’ve never seen him do that. But he’d 
be so displeased, he’d reprove me so—” 

“ Rosemary, it’s idiotic for a girl twenty-one 
years old to be so afraid of anybody! Your uncle 
is not your father, and even if he were—’’ 

“ Don’t talk like that, Bryce. He’s the same as 
a father to me. Ever since my own dear father died, 
five years ago, Uncle Homer has done all for me that 
a father could do, and more than a great many 
fathers do. I’ve seen the other girls,—their fathers 


UNCLE AND NIECE 


145 


aren’t half as good to them as Uncle is to me. And 
now Antan is gone, I owe it to him to be obedient 
and to observe all his commands.” 

“ Don’t you love me, dear? ” 

Bryce Collins was a tall, slender man, but his 
physique showed strength, and his bearing was that 
of an assured, determined nature. 

His deep blue eyes were honest and straightfor¬ 
ward, and his smooth-shaven face showed a chin 
that betokened will power to the point of stubborn¬ 
ness. And Collins was stubborn. He clung to an 
opinion or a determination like a puppy to a root, 
and he never gave up. 

Now, at twenty-six, he was an insistent suitor 
of Rosemary Vincent, but his plea was denied by 
her uncle. 

Homer Vincent gave no reason for his decision, 
—it was not his habit to give reasons,—but he de¬ 
clared it was final. To Rosemary he said she was 
too young to think of marriage yet, and he preferred 
that she should never marry. He hinted that he and 
his sister Anne had been much happier in their lives 
than their brother, Rosemary’s father, who had 
married young. In any case, he told the girl she 

must give up all thought of Bryce Collins, and, 
10 


146 SPOOKY HOLLOW 

unable to do otherwise, Rosemary had submitted 
to his decree. 

And as the girl was by no means of a sly or 
deceitful nature, she obeyed the spirit of her uncle's 
dictum as well as the letter. 

That is, she did so, as far as she could; but 
Collins, with his indomitable will and his firm deter¬ 
mination, would not let her give him up finally, 
unless she would tell him she did not care for him. 

This Rosemary could not do, for she loved 
Bryce, and hoped against hope, that some day her 
uncle would relent. 

Now, in view of the tragedy that hung over the 
house, Rosemary was more than ever afraid to have 
Collins’ presence known, and yet, never before had 
she felt so strong a wish, a need, for his presence. 

And his gentle tone, his whispered question, 
seemed to take away all her power of resistance. 

“ Yes,” she said, “ I love you,” and eagerly he 
clasped her in his waiting arms. 

“ Bless her heart! Whatever is coming to her ? ” 
and wiping her eyes, Melly turned from the window, 
where she had been watching the pair. 




CHAPTER VIII 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 

Twenty-four hours had elapsed since the 
funeral of Anne Vincent, and the mystery of her 
death was no nearer solution than it had been the 
moment her body was found. 

None of the relatives or friends who had attended 
the simple but beautiful services had been asked to 
tarry at the house. 

Homer Vincent had no desire to have them do 
so, and though several had dropped hints betokening 
their wish to stay on for a visit, they had met with 
no responsive invitation and had reluctantly taken 
their departure. 

He sent for Brewster and Brown and asked for 
their report. 

“ I have to confess, Mr. Vincent,” Brewster 
said, “ that we are up against it. We are convinced 
that the strange visitor, Mr. Johnson, is responsible 
for the death of your sister, but we can form no 
theory that will fit the facts. We have examined the 

bedroom, and we find there is absolutely no means of 

147 


148 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


entrance or exit, save that one door. The windows 
have patent ventilators that admit air without leav¬ 
ing possible space for an intruder. The lock of the 
door is burst in such a fashion as to show clearly 
that it was locked on the inside and could only be 
opened by force. We have tried every possible sug¬ 
gestion of suicide, and find that theory untenable, 
because there is no weapon in evidence. Miss Vin¬ 
cent could not have killed herself and then disposed 
of the dagger, for the death blow was instantly 
fatal,—we have the doctor's assurance for that.” 

“ I am very sure,” Homer Vincent said, “ that 
my sister did not kill herself. She had no motive 
for such a deed,—I left her that evening in the best 
of spirits and she was looking forward to the matter 
we were to confer about the next day. And, as you 
say, it could not have been suicide, as there has been 
no weapon found. I assume you made a thorough 
search of the bedding—” 

“ Oh, yes, I attended to that myself. No, suicide 
is out of the question.” 

“ I suppose,—” Vincent spoke a little diffidently, 
“ I suppose you hard-headed detectives wouldn’t 
consider the—er,—the supernatural for a moment.” 

“ No, sir! ” declared Brown, “ not for a moment I 





SPOOKY HOLLOW 


149 


I’ve been a detective too long to suspect a spook 
as long as there are human beings upon this earth. 
Miss Vincent was murdered by a knife held in a 
hand of flesh and blood! The motive was robbery, 
—robbery of her valuable ruby. The criminal is, 
of course, the man named Johnson, the ruby manu¬ 
facturer. I can reconstruct the crime as it must 
have been—but, I confess, I can’t see how it could 
have been so! ” 

“ What do you mean by ‘ reconstruct the 
crime ’ ? ” Vincent asked, curiously. 

“ Why, I mean, that evening, after you left Mr. 
Johnson in his room, he came out of it, later,—prob¬ 
ably walked round the house a bit, reconnoitering, 
and laid his plans to murder Miss Vincent as soon 
as the first faint light of dawn gave him opportunity. 
He did this, and then slipped out of the house, while 
the watchman was at his breakfast and the other 
servants about their work.” 

“ Logical enough,” Vincent said, “ except for the 
seemingly impossible feat of getting in and out of 
that locked room.” 

“ There you have it, Mr. Vincent,” Brewster 
exclaimed. “ That’s right ,—seemingly impossible 
feat. It wasn’t impossible, because he did it,—he 


150 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


had to do it, there’s no other explanation. Now, the 
thing is to find out how he did it, and the only way 
to do that is to catch him and ask him. Nobody 
knows but himself, so he must do the explaining.” 

“ That sounds plausible, Mr. Brewster. Now, 
can you find him? He has four days’ start. May 
he not be far away by this time,—perhaps out 
at sea? ” 

“ That’s true, Mr. Vincent, but all we can do is 
to hunt him down. Perhaps he can be found even 
if he is on an ocean steamer. Indeed, that would 
be one of the easiest hiding places to track down. 
But, and this is not an easy thing to say,—we can’t 
do it. Mr. Brown and I have done all we could, so 
far, but for a big hunt like this must be, we require 
the machinery, the facilities of a larger police depart¬ 
ment, of more experienced investigators.” 

“ I daresay,” Vincent nodded in agreement. “ In 
fact, I had thought of proposing the plan of putting 
the matter up to some one else. Whom do 
you suggest? ” 

“ The Burlington police. Not only have they a 
well-equipped Detective Bureau, but they have one 
man in especial, whose forte seems to be delving 
into mysteries that defy solution by others. His 




SPOOKY HOLLOW 


151 


name is Prentiss, but so keen is he, so sharp-sighted, 
he is called the Burlington Hawkeye.” 

Homer Vincent gave an involuntary smile. 
“ Why, that is a celebrated paper of quite another 
Burlington! ” 

“ Yes, it’s only a nickname. Well, what do you 
sav, sir? Shall we call him in?” 

“By all means. As I told you, I wish to spare 
no effort, no expense, in my endeavor to avenge my 
sister’s death. I suppose this man will come in the 
interests of the Police, but if it is any better or more 
advisable to engage him personally, I will do so.” 

“ We’ll see about that, sir. If he succeeds, you 
can, of course, give him an honorarium. He is a 
wizard,—I’ll say that for him, but I can’t see him 
solving this case,—it’s too strange! ” 

However, when Prentiss arrived, he gave the 
impression that he certainly could solve that case or 
any other. 

Not that the man was bumptious or unduly con¬ 
ceited, but he had an air of self-reliance, of self¬ 
assuredness, that carried weight by its mere physi¬ 
cal effect. 

Homer Vincent regarded him with curiosity, that 
turned to respect and then to entire satisfaction. 


152 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


He had a long talk with him, and Prentiss ear¬ 
nestly declared his ability to find the murderer. 

“There’s a mystery,” he said; “I am here to 
solve it. There’s a seeming impossibility,—I am 
here to explain it. There’s a missing man,—I am 
here to find him.” 

If Vincent thought the man too sure of himself 
or his powers, he did not say so, and merely nodded 
approval of such determination. 

The Burlington Hawkeye was not an impressive- 
looking man, in fact, he was rather inconspicuous. 
Medium height, average figure, unimportant color¬ 
ing, his appearance was saved from absolute non¬ 
entity by his piercing, darting eyes. These eyes 
were of the color sometimes called beryl or topaz. 
Also, they were a trifle prominent, and were so quick 
of motion, so glinting of shine, that they made re¬ 
markable an otherwise negligible face. 

He shot a glance of inquiry at Vincent, as if to 
ask his recognition of his powers. 

But Homer Vincent was not accustomed to 
bestow praise. 

“ I am glad to learn of your enthusiasm,” he 
conceded, “ and I am ready and willing to do any¬ 
thing at all I can to help you. But I must ask 



SPOOKY HOLLOW 


153 


that you will not disturb me unnecessarily. While 
I am most anxious to have the mystery of my sis¬ 
ter’s death solved, most eager to find that man 
Johnson, yet I am not at all interested in the details 
of the search, nor do I want uncertain or partial re¬ 
ports. When you have learned beyond doubt some 
important fact, acquaint me with it, but do not 
come to me with trifling discoveries that may or 
may not mean anything. Am I clear? ” 

“ Yes, Mr. Vincent, perfectly so. I understand. 
In fact, I have been told you are a recluse and 
wish no unnecessary communications with your 
fellow-men.” 

“ That is perhaps an exaggerated way to put it,” 
Vincent observed, calmly, “ yet for your own edifi¬ 
cation, it is perhaps the best way. Yes, you may look 
upon me in that light, Mr. Prentiss. However, that 
does not mean that I do not want to be told of any¬ 
thing you may discover of real importance. And if 
you are uncertain as to the value of your news, refer 
it to Mellish, my butler. He is entirely in my confi¬ 
dence, and often stands between me and what you 
have termed my fellow-men.” 

If Prentiss had expected to jar the calm of 
Homer Vincent by his outspokenness, he must have 


154 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


been disappointed, for Vincent seemed rather pleased 
than otherwise at the implication of retirement. 

Sensing this, the detective resolved to get all 
the information possible at this time, for it might 
prove difficult to get future interviews. 

“ Will you describe Johnson, please? ” he asked. 

“ He is a very dark man, both as to hair and 
skin. He is as good-looking as the average citizen 
and has an air of business alertness and execu¬ 
tive ability.” 

“ What is his business? ” 

“ Aside from this plan of manufacturing syn¬ 
thetic rubies, I know of none. It is probable he has 
some other calling, for he appeared a well-dressed, 
well-set-up man, as if accustomed to a competency 
but not wealth. He put his business proposition to 
my sister and myself with a straightforward man¬ 
ner and a fair and equal arrangement of profits.” 

“ You were to finance the thing? ” 

“ Yes; and my sister wished also to take a share 
in it. She had a fortune equal to my own, and was 
anxious to invest in this new scheme.” 

“ What disposition did your sister make of her 
fortune? ” 

“ She left no will. Neither she nor I have ever 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


155 


made one. We agreed that as whichever of us died 
first would legally inherit the estate of the other, a 
will was unnecessary for either of us.” 

“And Miss Rosemary Vincent?” 

“ The question of her inheritance has not yet 
been brought up. It is true that my sister intended 
our niece should have her great ruby,—but alas! that 
gem is missing. It may be, however, that if you find 
Johnson you can recover the ruby. In that case, it 
will, of course, belong to my niece. As to my niece’s 
fortune or prospects, we need not take up that sub¬ 
ject at this time. Sufficient to say that she is under 
my care, and I shall guard and protect her interests. 
Now, Mr. Prentiss, I will ask you to excuse me from 
further conversation. Mellish will show you the 
room Mr. Johnson occupied; it is still untouched, 
I think. He will also show you my sister’s room 
and the rest of the house and grounds. Or he will 
depute some one to do so. You may command him 
in any way you choose.” 

“ Thank you, Mr. Vincent. I can’t help hoping 
for success in this investigation. It is conceded 
among our profession that the more strange and 
bizarre conditions appear, the more impossible the 
correlation of facts seems to be,—the easier of solu- 


156 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


tion a mystery is. This may or may not be literally 
true, but at any rate it is true in part.” 

“ You most certainly have contradictory con¬ 
ditions in this case; you surely have strange and 
bizarre situations. Go to it, then, Mr. Prentiss, and 
advise me when you have achieved some defi¬ 
nite success. ” 

But the Burlington Hawkeye was not so easily 
shaken off. 

“ One more thing, Mr. Vincent/’ he said. 
“ What about this Wild Harp ? Have you ever 
heard it? ” 

“ I should be sorry to put myself on record as 
a believer in the supernatural,” Vincent looked as if 
the matter were distasteful to him, “ but I will say 
this much. If there are occult forces, if there are 
deeds done without the intervention of human 
agency, then, Mr. Prentiss, then I must say this 
looks like such a case. But, mind you, I do not say 
that there are. I do not state that I believe my 
sister met her death by supernatural means,—but 
I own I cannot explain the circumstances by any 
natural procedure. Also, I think you ought to know 
that the place is reputed haunted, and that the room 
my sister occupied was the room of a previous mis- 





SPOOKY HOLLOW 


157 


tress of the house, who was also found dead in her 
bed there. It is said that her spirit has haunted this 
place ever since her death, but of these tales I am no 
sponsor. I merely mention them because I think you 
ought to hear of them from me, rather than from 
the silly townspeople. They have dubbed the place 
‘ Spooky Hollow 5 and they claim to have seen 
ghostly figures and to have heard ghostly voices.” 

“ This brings us back to the Wild Harp. Have 
you ever heard it?” 

Homer Vincent hesitated. Then he said, “ Mr. 
Prentiss, I am no authority on the subject. The 
truth is, music is my passion. Not only do I play 
on my organ frequently, but when I am not playing 
I seem to hear the strains of my favorite composi¬ 
tions. They ring in my ears to such an extent that 
I am as conscious of them as when I am actually 
hearing them. And so, if I say that I have heard, or 
think I have heard, this so-called Wild Harp, you 
must remember that I am also willing to admit that 
it may easily be only my memories of music I have 
played, or that it is some of the harmony with which 
my brain is always teeming.” 

“ I see—and yet you are willing to say that at 
times you have thought or imagined that you heard 
the Harp music? ” 


158 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


“ Yes, I am willing to say that. But I insist that 
you do not lay too much stress upon it in your deduc¬ 
tions. For I object to being set down as a spiritual¬ 
ist when I am far from certain that I really do 
believe at all in such things.” 

“ I see. Now, one thing more, Mr. Vincent. 
Will you describe to me this woodland down back 
of the Temple—the part of your estate that they 
definitely call Spooky Hollow? What is it like? ” 

“ It is a densely wooded area, full of low, tangled 
underbrush and containing, also, tall pines, larches, 
and spruces. There are, too, some white birches, 
which, I make no doubt, are the shapes the fright¬ 
ened townsfolk have diagnosed as spooks.” 

“ Doubtless that is true. And the ground—is it 
wet—swampy ? ” 

“ A little marshy, I believe. I’ve never been 
down in it, but I think it is wet, and I purpose 
having it drained and reclaimed.” 

“ Is it damp enough, marshy enough, to have 
bogs or quagmires? I’m wondering, you see, if 
Johnson could have wandered down there and could 
have gone into the swamp and have been sucked in 
by the quaking bog.” 

Vincent looked up in surprise. 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


159 


“ Oh, I don’t think the swamp is as bad as that! 
Hardly of the quicksand variety,—if that is what 
you mean. But ask Mellish about it, he will know 
the details of it far better than I do. And I 
scarcely think Johnson would have gone out of doors, 
—I mean to walk about. He was entranced with 
my house, and wished to examine its architecture 
and marbles. But I can’t think he went outside 
until, his fell aim accomplished, he went out to 
run away.” 

“ He left coat and hat behind him? ” 

“ Yes, that is one of the strange features of 
the case.” 

“ Had he an umbrella? ” 

Vincent pondered. “ I really don’t know. If so, 
doubtless Mellish took it from him and cared 
for it. Can you gather nothing from his hat 
or coat? I thought such things carried meanings 
for detectives.” 

“ Possibly. I haven’t examined them yet. Now, 
Mr. Vincent, you don’t know of any other possible 
reason for Mr. Johnson to kill your sister except 
robbery? Could he have been an old-time suitor of 
hers, or a crank, an anarchist, or even a homicidal 
maniac ? Did his conversation hint any such thing ?” 


160 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


“ I never thought of such explanations,” and 
Vincent looked bewildered. “ No, of course he was 
not an old beau,—ridiculous! My sister never saw 
him before,—of that I am positive. Nor did he 
seem like an anarchist,—or a homicide. He was 
normal in manner and conversation. I object to 
talking of business affairs at the dinner-table. I do 
not think it good for digestion. But our conver¬ 
sation was on usual, ordinary subjects. Mr. Johnson 
did not seem an educated man, in a cultural sense, 
but he seemed a thorough man of the world, of fairly 
wide experiences, and good judgment.” 

“ He said nothing of his life or affairs, outside 
the ruby business? ” 

“No; our talk was impersonal. He knew little 
of music, and I know of no subject that specially 
interested him. I’m sorry, Mr. Prentiss, but I can 
tell you nothing definite concerning his personality. 
If I could, I should have told it long ago.” 

“Of course, of course. Well, Mr. Vincent, I 
will go about my work. By the way, you have 
confidence in all your servants ? ” 

“ Absolute confidence in Mellish, my butler, and 
his wife, who is my cook. Also in Francine, the 
little French girl who was maid to my sister, and 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


161 


who also attends on my niece. She may seem like 
a shallow-pated little thing, but she was devoted to 
Miss Vincent and truly mourns for her now.” 

“ Yes, yes, I will talk with her. Good morning, 
Mr. Vincent.” 

“ Ah, one moment, Mr. Prentiss. I shall not 
ask you to make your home at Greatlarch while you 
are conducting your investigations. It would not 
please me to know of your continued presence here. 
But, pray feel free to come and go as you like, and 
refer all questions to Mellish.” 

Assenting to this, the Burlington Hawkeye took 
his leave of the master of the house and went in 
search of the servants. 

“Umbrella, sir? yes, sir,” said Mellish, in re¬ 
sponse to the inquiry of Prentiss. “ Mr. Johnson 
did carry an umbrella and I did take it from him 
that day, and never again did it occur to my remem¬ 
ory! I put it, of course, in the coat room, in the 
umbrella cupboard, and there, I make me no doubt, 
it still is. I’ll see, sir.” 

In a moment, Mellish returned, bringing 
triumphantly a good-looking and carefully- 
rolled umbrella. 

Prentiss looked at it with interest. 


ll 


162 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


“ You can learn a lot from an umbrella/’ he said. 
“ First, I deduce a careful, tidy sort of person, accus¬ 
tomed to take good care of his belongings. A knob 
handle, not a crook, denotes a fastidious or par¬ 
ticular person. Nine out of ten umbrellas have 
crook handles.” 

. “ Do they now, sir ? ” asked Mellish, much 
interested. 

“ Of good quality silk,” Prentiss went on, 
“ black, fairly new, made by—” He opened it 
and read the name of a well-known New York 
haberdasher. 

“ H’m, we ought to trace it through that firm—” 

“ Trace an umbrella, sir, as any one might 
buy—” 

“ Ah, but you see our man had this marked. 
See, H. J., the initials intertwined. Now, if we can 
trace up that order—” 

“ You’ll find out that Henry Johnson had his 
umbrella marked there, but how will that tell you 
where to look for him now? ” 

“ Every bit of information we can get is im¬ 
portant when hunting a missing man. Put it away, 
Mellish,—or suppose we take it up to the room 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


163 


Johnson had when he was here. Yes, that will 
be best” 

The two went up to the room Johnson had 
occupied. But as he had only tidied up for dinner, 
not having evening clothes with him, there was little 
to notice and but few things disturbed at all. 

Prentiss went over the scanty array of clothing 
in the bag. 

“ Come now, Mellish, you’re by way of being a 
valet, wouldn’t your master take more than that 
when going on a journey? ” 

“ That he would, sir. Mr. Vincent’s overnight 
bag holds as much as a small trunk.” 

“ Just so, and I deduce our friend here didn’t 
expect to stay the night.” 

“ Maybe so, sir. Maybe he thought he could 
do up the business in a short time.” 

“Yes; strange he left no papers, no letters, or 
memoranda of any kind.” 

“ Mr. Vincent has all the papers about the ruby 
construction business, sir. Mr. Johnson left all 
those with Mr. Vincent that night.” 

“Yes, but I mean other papers. You’ve not 
cleared out any, Mellish? ” 


164 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


“ Oh, no, sir. Not a thing in this room has 
been disturbed. Orders, sir.” 

“ And that turned-down bed is just as the house¬ 
maid left it? ” 

“ Exactly, sir. But she’d be for tidying up his 
brushes and that, at the same time. So as one of the 
brushes is out of line, and there’s a towel or so 
rumpled up in the bathroom, I take it the man 
was in his room after the confab with Mr. Vincent 
in the evening.” 

“ Oh, yes, and beside, Mr. Vincent brought him 
up to his room, you know, and said good night 
to him.” 

“ Did he now? That’s a deal for the master to 
do for any guest! ” 

“ Mr. Vincent not given to putting himself out 
for anybody? ” 

“ That he is not. Mr. Vincent prefers that 
people put themselves out for him.” 

“ But a good master, eh? ” 

“ Never a better. Given that things go right.” 

“ The place will go on just the same, now that 
the lady is not here? ” 

“Oh, yes; leastways, I suppose so. My wife, 
now, she can run the house as Mr. Vincent wants it, 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 165 

and I doubt not Miss Rosemary will help look 
after things.” 

“ Miss Rosemary? She’s a niece? ” 

“Yes, sir; her father, Mr. Vincent’s brother, 
died five years since, and Miss Rosemary then came 
here to live.” 

“ She has money of her own ? ” 

“ I take it she has, sir. She never lacks for any¬ 
thing she wants. But money is not talked of in this 
house. They are no purse-proud upstarts. Mr. 
Vincent wants only what’s comfortable and to his 
wishes, naught for show or ostentationary purposes.” 

“ That’s fine. And Miss Anne was the same? ” 

“ The very same, sir. Though whatever Mr. 
Vincent was, of course Miss Anne would be. And 
Miss Rosemary, too.” 

“Yes. And, now, Melish, what about the 
Wild Harp?” 

A slight smile hovered on the man’s features. 

“ Well, sir, I’d not say as there is any truth in 
them stories. They are what you might call— 
imaginatious,—-yes, sir, merely imagination.” 

“ But some people have heard the weird strains.” 

“ They think they have, sir,—but, well, you 
know yourself, it couldn’t be. How could a harp 


166 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


be for making music, when there’s no harp there 
and no hand to pull its strings? ” 

“ But a phantom harp,—and a phantom hand 
to touch the strings—” 

“Nay, nay, sir. Nothing of the sort. All old 
woman’s tales. All made-up yarns,—that’s what 
they are.” 

“ And all made up about the visitations of Mrs. 
Lamont’s spirit ? ” 

“ Of course, sir. Take it truly, sir, you waste 
your time a looking for the spooks of Spooky 
Hollow.” 

“ Then, Mellish, then who killed Miss Anne? ” 

“ It was that Johnson, sir. Yes, sir, he’s the 
villain, the criminal, the anathema maharajah! ” 

And Mellish’s solemn face and tense, strained 
voice kept Prentiss from laughing at his queer, mis¬ 
taken words. 


CHAPTER IX 


A LIVING TRAGEDY 

The Burlington Hawkeye bided his time to 
obtain an interview with Rosemary when he could 
see her alone. He felt considerable curiosity about 
the girl and wanted to learn some personal facts 
concerning her. 

Rosemary Vincent had been what is sometimes 
called buffeted by Fate. But the buffetings had 
been so gentle and the girl so well protected, she 
had never felt them definitely. 

She still had delightful memories of a childhood 
spent in Paris, of a devoted mother and doting 
father, who might easily have spoiled her had she 
been of a less loving and lovable disposition. Natu¬ 
rally obedient and dutiful, always sunshiny and 
happy, her life was uneventful until, when she was 
ten years old, her mother died. 

But the broken-hearted child was so petted and 
entertained by her father that her life again became 
happy and her mother merely a beloved memory. 

Moreover, her father, soon after his wife’s death, 

167 



168 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


was sent by his business firm to America to estab¬ 
lish a branch business in Seattle. 

This pleased Carl Vincent, who was glad to 
return to his native land, although in a hitherto 
unfamiliar portion of it. 

He grew to like the Seattle climate and 
people, and contentedly remained there, bringing 
up his daughter in kindly and well-conditioned 
circumstances. 

Carl Vincent became a very rich man, but of 
this Rosemary had no knowledge or thought. Vin¬ 
cent deemed it best to keep the girl to her simple 
tastes and ways, and though their home was delight¬ 
fully appointed, it was by no means magnificent or 
of a grandeur commensurate with Vincent’s income. 

Then, when his daughter was sixteen years old, 
Carl Vincent was killed in a motor accident. 

The tragedy was a terrible one, and the girl 
was not even allowed to see her dead father. 

Immediately Homer Vincent went out to Seattle, 
from his home in Burlington, Vermont, where he 
was then living. 

He tenderly cared for the orphaned girl and took 
her back home with him as soon as the business 


A LIVING TRAGEDY 169 

matters consequent on his brother’s death could 
be completed. 

Anne Vincent, whom Rosemary lovingly called 
Antan, welcomed her niece warmly, and again Rose¬ 
mary’s acute grief was diverted by the scenes and 
experiences of her new home. 

She deeply mourned her father, but Rosemary 
Vincent was an eager, vivid spirit, a life- and 
laughter-loving girl, and she quickly became a favor¬ 
ite among the young people and neighbors. 

Then, six months later, Homer Vincent bought 
the huge mansion of Greatlarch, and the three 
moved there. 

Rosemary loved the house as much as her uncle 
did. Her Paris memories made her appreciate the 
full charm of the old French chateau, and her own 
beauty-loving nature made her feel at home in the 
marble halls. 

Uncle and aunt were kind and loving to their 
niece, but Rosemary found her freedom a bit cur¬ 
tailed. Her father had let her do everything she 
wished, for she had never desired the unadvisable, 
in his opinion. 

But Uncle Homer was more stringent in his 
commands. The girl could have her own way in 


170 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


many instances, but if her ways interfered in the 
slightest with Homer Vincent’s personal inclina¬ 
tions, Rosemary must give them up. 

She did not openly rebel; in fact, she felt she 
owed willing obedience to her kind uncle, but at 
times her patience gave out, and her disappoint¬ 
ments made her petulant. 

Especially in the matter of young visitors at 
Greatlarch. Rosemary wanted dances and house 
parties, and girl friends for long visits. But these 
were banned by Uncle Homer, because the laughter 
and chatter of a lot of young people disturbed the 
restful calm that he wished to pervade the household. 

It had been tried a few times, with results 
embarrassing to the guest and heartbreaking 
to Rosemary. 

Aunt Anne had interceded for her niece, had 
begged her brother to indulge the girl, at least occa¬ 
sionally, but Vincent was firm. It was his house, 
therefore, his castle. He had a right to order it as 
he chose, and it was Rosemary’s duty to obey. 

His calm air of finality, which was never absent 
from him, made his rules adamant, and Rosemary 
gave up the struggle and succumbed to a solitary life 


A LIVING TRAGEDY 


171 


in her home, though getting much enjoyment from 
social gayeties elsewhere. 

Though, here again, she was handicapped by her 
uncle’s insistence on her early homecoming. This 
brought about a slyness and secrecy, quite foreign 
to Rosemary’s nature, but developed by her love of 
dancing and of young society. 

And by the help of Hoskins and the connivance 
of the two Mellishes, all of whom adored her, Rose¬ 
mary managed to stay at most parties until they 
were over. 

Another thorn in her flesh was the trouble about 
Bryce Collins. 

Though Homer Vincent had no definite objection 
to the young man, he expressed his strong dis¬ 
approval of Rosemary’s marriage with any one. Of 
this stand he gave no explanation, his usual manner 
being such that explanations never seemed necessary. 
His word was law, unquestionable and immutable. 

Yet Vincent was not a stern or awe-inspiring 
personality. If things were going as he wished,— 
and they usually were,—he was not only amiable, 
but charming and entertaining. 

He was subject to moods, which must be ob¬ 
served and humored by his household. He made 


172 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


laws which must be obeyed. He gave orders which 
must be carried out. These things done, Homer 
Vincent was the most gracious of hosts, the most 
generous of brothers and uncles. 

And all this, the Burlington Hawkeye learned 
from Rosemary Vincent when he asked her to go 
for a brisk walk with him, around the grounds 
of Greatlarch. 

The girl, with her responsive disposition, liked 
Prentiss at once. He had an ingratiating manner, 
and a pleasant air of courteous deference. The 
stare of his slightly prominent eyes was often veiled 
by lowered lashes, and under the influence of his 
discreet but leading questions, Rosemary told him 
all about her life, past, present, and future, so far 
as she knew it. 

“ And your father was the brother of Mr. and 
Miss Vincent? ” he asked, interestedly. 

“ Yes, their youngest brother. And the dearest 
man! Dad had the best traits of Uncle Homer and 
Antan, and none of their faults.” 

“ And he was very rich, wasn’t he? ” 

“ Why, yes,—I suppose so. I never thought 
much about that. Pve always had all the money I 
wanted, but I’m not an extravagant person.” 


A LIVING TRAGEDY 


173 


“ But you must be an heiress. You must in¬ 
herit your father’s fortune, don’t you? ” 

“ I suppose so. Probably he left it to the 
three of us.” 

“ Do you mean to say you don’t know? Don’t 
know anything about your own finances?” 

Rosemary laughed outright. 

“Is that strange?” she said; “well, then, it’s 
true. I don’t know a thing about money matters— 
but I do know this. Antan’s great ruby was to be 
mine, and now that horrid Johnson man has stolen 
it! Oh, don’t think I am heartless to think of it, but 
you know how I do mourn dear Antan, and it seems 
awful that he should have taken the ruby, too! ” 

“ Are you fond of jewels? ” 

“ Not specially, but that stone was a favorite of 
mine,—and it is a wonderful stone,—it has 
a history—” 

“ Miss Vincent, do you believe in hauntings,— 
in,—well, in spooks?” 

“ Oh, I do and I don’t. It’s too absurd to think 
a ghost killed Antan,—and yet, how could a mortal 
get in—and get out? ” 

“Well, just granting that a mortal could do 
that,—suppose a skeleton key or something like 
that,—whom would you suspect? ” 


174 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


“ Why, that Mr. Johnson, of course. He was a 
clever burglar,—he just took that means of hood¬ 
winking Uncle Homer,—the ruby-making business, 
I mean.” 

“ Yes, it would seem so. But why didn’t he steal 
anything else? Wasn’t there other jewelry of your 
aunt’s about? ” 

“ I daresay; but nothing to compare in value to 
that. Why, do you know that a ruby is worth three 
times as much as a diamond of the same size? And 
Antan’s ruby was enormous! ” 

“ Where did she get it? ” 

“ Bought it herself,—soon after I came here 
to live.” 

“ Well, Miss Vincent, I truly think, now that 
you and your uncle are left alone, you ought to have 
some sort of a financial settlement. From what you 
tell me, I am sure you have an independent fortune, 
and it ought to be settled upon you. Aren’t you 
of age? ” 

“ Twenty-one last birthday.” 

“ Then you should see to it at once. Doubtless 
your uncle is going to attend to it shortly, but don’t 
let him delay.” 

“ Why, Mr. Prentiss? ” the girl asked, curiously. 


A LIVING TRAGEDY 


175 


“ I am well provided for. All my bills are paid with¬ 
out question, all my wants supplied unhesitatingly.” 

“ Oh, well, perhaps it’s a matter of no immediate 
importance. You may as well wait until after this 
awful mystery is solved.” 

“Will it ever be solved? Can you find that 
Johnson man? Where can he be? Where do you 
think, Mr. Prentiss? They call you a Hawkeye, 
has your sharp eyesight yet discerned anything? ” 
“ I know that Mr. Johnson has five or six days’ 
start of me, and that in that time he could get to the 
ends of the earth,—with his ruby! ” 

“ Don’t call it his ruby,—it’s mine,—and I hope 
you are going to get it back for me.” 

The girl’s topaz-colored eyes looked into those 
of Prentiss. Her eyes were not unlike his own in 
tints, but while his were round and staring, hers 
were deep-set and expressive. Her long lashes were 
golden-brown, like her hair, and her whole face was 
suggestive of the russet and gold glory of an autumn 
day. Her clear, olive skin was tanned by a summer 
in the sun, and her red-brown hair showed golden 
light in its clustering curls that shone like copper or 
deepened to dusky bronze. 

Her principal characteristic was an effect of vivid 


176 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


life. Her glance was direct, her face animated, her 
lithe, graceful gestures indicative of vitality 
and enthusiasm. 

Perception and responsiveness shone in her eyes 
and her scarlet, sensitive lips quivered with a bewil¬ 
dering charm. 

A fleeting, evanescent dimple showed only when 
she was deeply amused, but whoever once saw it, 
used every effort to bring it forth again. 

Though too intelligent not to have a subcon¬ 
sciousness of her own beauty, Rosemary was not 
vain or conceited over it. 

She accepted it as she did food or sunlight, and 
gave it no more definite thought. Full of the joy 
of living, absorbed in her daily duties and pleasures, 
she went her way like a wise butterfly, taking no 
heed of the morrow in the occupations of the day. 

Her trivial troubles were those caused by her 
uncle’s restrictions on her freedom, and her only 
real trouble, and that just dawning, was his refusal 
to recognize Bryce Collins as her possible suitor. 

The pair were in love with that first flush of 
youthful affection that is none the less real because 
of its ignorance and inexperience. 

Rosemary had liked other boys, had felt an in- 





A LIVING TRAGEDY 


177 


terest in other young men, but until she knew Bryce 
Collins, she had never felt the personal attachment, 
the mating thrill, that is the precursor of true love. 

Moreover, she admired Collins from an intellec¬ 
tual viewpoint. She appreciated his mentality, and 
liked his casual traits. She adored his big, strong 
manliness, and she was beginning to love him with a 
sense of reciprocation of his own affection for her. 

Their love was dawning, budding, just ready 
to spring into full light, to burst into full blossom, 
when it was thwarted by Homer Vincent’s decree 
against it. 

Nor was Bryce Collins ready to submit tamely to 
the dictum. He openly rebelled, while Rosemary, 
uncertain of the wisdom of defying her uncle, was 
waiting to see what would happen. 

Antan had been her niece’s ally, in secret, but 
Anne Vincent would never dream of opposing her 
brother’s decisions. 

And now, even Antan’s support was gone, and 
Rosemary began to think she must do something 
definite about it all. 

Her nature felt a strong distaste to secret meet¬ 
ings with Collins. Her father had brought her up 
to strict honesty and a hatred of deceit. Her little 
12 


178 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


evasions about late homecoming or casual meetings 
with Bryce at other girls’ houses, she condoned to 
herself as trifles. But now a real dilemma con¬ 
fronted her. 

She was left the only helpmeet in her uncle’s 
home; the only overseer and housekeeper for him to 
depend on in the matter of his small habits and 
peculiar comforts. If she were to desert him, he 
would be left entirely to the care of paid servants, 
and after all he had done for her, Rosemary’s soul 
rebelled at the thought of ingratitude. 

And yet,—there was Bryce,—growing dearer 
and more lovable every day. And with her growing 
love, came growing womanhood, growing desire for 
her chosen mate, for her own life partner. 

And perhaps egged on by her talk with Prentiss, 
Rosemary decided to have a talk with her uncle. 

She found him in his own Tower room, and to 
her satisfaction his mood was a composed and appar¬ 
ently pliable one. 

“ I want a talk, Uncle Homer,” she said, as he 
held a chair for her. “ A serious talk.” 

Rosemary was glancing about the room, and a 
sudden thought struck her. 

“ Uncle Homer,” she exclaimed, “ what were 


A LIVING TRAGEDY 


179 


you hiding in a secret panel the night,—the night 
Antan died? ” 

Homer Vincent’s face showed his amazement. 

'‘What do you mean?” he asked, blankly. 

“Yes, when I came home,—oh, I was late,— 
you were putting something away in a secret panel, 
in this room. Some papers and also something that 
shone like gold.” 

“ Well, Rosemary, even if I was doing that, it 
doesn’t really concern you, and in fact, I don’t 
remember the circumstance. But what is your 
serious talk about? Bryce Collins?” 

“ Yes, Uncle,” and the girl bravely stated her 
case. Fortified by the advice of Prentiss, she asked 
concerning her own financial affairs, and declared 
that, being of age, she had a right to know 
these things. 

Homer Vincent drew a long sigh, and regarded 
his niece with a look that was both sad and 
sympathetic. 

“ I’m glad, in a way, Rosemary, that you have 
brought up this subject. I’ve been trying to get up 
my courage to broach it to you for a long 
time, but I couldn’t bear to disturb your happy, 
girlish content.” 


180 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


From his tone, rather than his words, Rosemary 
sensed trouble, and she looked up quickly to find 
her uncle regarding her with real sorrow in his 
deep gray eyes. 

“ What is it, Uncle Homer ? ” she cried, paling 
in an intuitive premonition of an unpleasant dis¬ 
closure of some sort. “ Don’t condemn Bryce un¬ 
heard ! ” for the poor child could think of no other 
ill news. 

“No, Rosemary, what I have to tell you now is 
in no way connected with young Collins, though it 
may have a bearing on your friendship for him. 
Child, I don’t know how to begin.” 

“ Is it so very disagreeable? ” she asked, wonder- 
ingly. “ Then get it over quickly,—I’ll be brave.” 

And she had need of bravery, for this was the 
tale he told,—the secret he revealed. 

“ Then, to put it baldly,—plainly, Rosemary,— 
you are not—you are not really the child of your 
supposed parents. You are adopted.” 

“ What! ” There seemed to be nothing else 
to say, and Homer Vincent did not repeat his state¬ 
ment, for he knew she had heard. 

Her mind raced, her quick perceptions realized 
everything in one blinding flash. 



A LIVING TRAGEDY 


181 


Not her parents’ child! Merely an adopted 
daughter! Whose ? 

“ Don’t look like that, Rosemary, listen to 
the story.” 

“ But it can make no difference. What are 
details? If I am not the daughter of my dear 
father—and my angel mother—who am I ? ” 

Her cry rang out, like the shriek of a lost soul. 
Her emotional nature was stirred to its depths for 
the first time in her happy young life. 

“ Go on,” she cried, inconsistently; “ tell me the 
rest! Who am I?” 

“ Try to be quiet, dear, and let me tell you. My 
brother Carl married a lovely woman named Mary 
Leslie. A little child was born to them, but 
died almost immediately. My sister-in-law, sadly 
stricken, wanted to adopt a baby in its place. My 
brother approved of this, and so, Rosemary, they 
took you from an orphan asylum. And they 
brought you up as their own child, they loved and 
cared for you, and, as they never had any other 
children, they lavished real parental devotion on you, 
as no one knows better than you do yourself.” 

“Oh, I do know it!” and Rosemary moaned 
between her interlaced fingers. “ But I can’t believe 


182 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


it, Uncle! I can’t sense it! Not the daughter of 
my dear, dear father! Why, he loved me so—” 

“ Yes, that’s what I said,—they both loved you 
like a real child of their own,—I know they did.” 

“ Who else knew of this? Antan? ” 

“ Yes, of course she knew it, but no one else 
at all. That is, except the asylum authorities. Your 
parents,—for I shall continue to call them so,—lived 
in Paris at that time, and you were taken from a 
small and exclusive orphanage—” 

“Do you know who I was? Did they know? 
Oh, Uncle, I can’t stand it! It’s too dreadful—” 

“ Dear Rosemary, don’t overrate the thing. It 
is a shock to you, of course, but remember I’ve 
known it all your life,—so did your Aunt Anne,— 
so, of course, did your parents. Did it make any 
difference in our love for you ? In our treatment of 
you? Never. And it will make no difference now. 
The only difference is that you know it yourself, 
and I deem it wise that you do know. As I said, 
I’ve been thinking for some time that I ought to tell 
you,—it is your right to know—” 

“ My right! I have no rights! I have no birth¬ 
right, even—no name! Uncle, I can’t stand it! I 
shall kill myself—” 



A LIVING TRAGEDY 


183 


“ Hush, Rosemary,” Vincent commanded, 
sternly. “ Never say a thing like that again. 
You’re over-excited now,—you are stunned at this 
news,—but you will get used to it,—you must get 
used to it. You have your life to live—” 

“I have no life to live! I have no name—no 
hope—no—” 

“ Unless you can calm yourself, my dear, I must 
ask you to leave me until you attain some degree of 
composure. I want to talk to you about several 
things, about your prospects, about your future, but 
I cannot talk with a girl who rants and screams in 
nervous paroxysms.” 

“ Forgive me, Uncle,” and Rosemary’s habit of 
obedience came to her aid. “ I will try to be calm,— 
I will talk rationally,—but—I mean, I will if I can.” 

The poor child strove vainly for composure, but 
her quivering sobs were persistent, and her tears 
would not stop. 

Ignoring them then, Homer Vincent continued. 

“ I will take this opportunity to tell you some 
further truths, Rosemary, for I don’t want to repeat 
a scene like this if we can help it. Let us, therefore, 
talk it all over now, and do try,—make an earnest 
effort to stop that convulsive crying.” 


184 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


“ Yes, Uncle. Tell me, first of all, do you know 
who I am? ” 

“ No, Rosemary, I do not. Your father,—as I 
said, I will continue to call my brother by that name, 
—kept no record of your birth. I know this, because 
at his death I took charge of all his papers, both 
concerning business matters and private affairs, and 
there was no document of any sort pertaining to 
your adoption. But I have personal letters from my 
brother and from his wife, telling my sister and 
myself all about the matter. You can read them for 
yourself, and it will comfort you to read how they 
loved you from the first, and how delighted they 
were with their little new daughter. Never for one 
moment, Rosemary, forget the love they showered 
upon you, or the debt of gratitude you owe them 
and their memory for the happy and beautiful life 
they gave you. Also, if it pleases you to recognize 
it, your Aunt Anne and I, myself, have always 
endeavored to show you the same love and affection 
as if you were really our niece.” 

“ You did, Uncle, you both did,—and I do realize 
it, and I am grateful.” 

“ Try to show it now, my dear, by less agitation. 
This scene is wearing me out,—I am in a nervous 




A LIVING TRAGEDY 


185 


state, naturally, since your aunt’s death, and I can¬ 
not bear much more. But what I must tell you, 
Rosemary, is that you are virtually penniless. My 
brother left no will, and, of course, his estate 
reverted to your Aunt Anne and myself, as his 
natural heirs. He assumed I would provide for 
you, and I have done so, and I always shall. But, 
Rosemary, I do not wish you to continue to live 
here. When your aunt was with us, it was quite 
different. Now, I am not able to meet the conditions 
consequent upon having a young lady in the house. 
You are young and fond of young society. I am 
getting old, and I need rest and quiet in my home. 
I am sure you can see for yourself that it would be 
impossible for us to remain together happily. And 
I am sure you would not wish to stay here, unwanted. 
So, Rosemary, dear, we will at some early date talk 
over your plans, and see about settling you some¬ 
where by yourself. Of course, you cannot expect the 
luxurious life you have led here, but I will give you 
what I consider a sufficient allowance for a young 
girl, and doubtless you will like to take up some light 
occupation that will bring you in an additional sum. 
You are not a Vincent, as I have told you, and so 
you have no real claim on me. But I will willingly 


186 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


give you an allowance and I trust you will find a 
little home for yourself. This is why I had to forbid 
you all thought of marrying young Collins. They 
are an aristocratic old family, and his people, of 
course, would not hear of his alliance with—” 

“ Don’t say it! I am a nameless orphan, but I 
never shall foist myself on the family of Bryce 
Collins—or on anybody else! ” 

And, white-faced and trembling, biting her scar¬ 
let lips in agony, Rosemary walked out of the room. 






CHAPTER X 


HOW COLLINS FELT ABOUT IT 

Rosemary walked alone in the south gardens. 
These beautiful terraced plots lay either side of the 
lagoon, and ended only at the broken stone fence that 
bounded Spooky Hollow. 

This fence, not unusual in New England, w r as 
merely a succession of flat, unevenly shaped stones, 
most of them pointed, standing in a ragged row 
between the gardens and the swampy jungle of 
undergrowth. They had a slight appearance of old 
and neglected gravestones, and their grim, gaunt 
shapes added to the eerie aspect of the place. 

One had fallen over to a horizontal position and 
Rosemary went and sat upon it. 

The girl was stunned. Not yet did she feel grief, 
sorrow, or despair at her uncle’s revelations; not yet 
could she look ahead or plan for her future; she 
couldn’t even realize the situation. She was dazed, 
bewildered,—her mind a senseless blank. 

Wrapped in her long fur coat, a small fur hat 

drawn down over her brow, she nestled into the deep 

187 


188 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


coat-collar and tried to collect her wits, to marshal 
her thoughts, to make some plans. 

But she could not think coherently. Her memo¬ 
ries raced back to the dear, kind father—who was 
not her father! to the loving, beautiful mother— 
who was not her mother! Oh, it couldn’t be true,— 
it must be an awful dream! Then the dear Antan, 
who had died—not her aunt—not Antan at all! 
Uncle Homer not her uncle—Greatlarch not 
her home— 

Wonderful Greatlarch! Rosemary loved every 
tower and turret of the splendid old pile. Every bit 
of marble and wood-carving was her joy and delight. 
And she was put out of Greatlarch—put out because 
she had no right there—no claim or inheritance in 
its ownership. 

It was too incredible, she could not believe it! 

And then the tears came, and poor Rosemary 
buried her face in her fur sleeves and her whole 
slender frame shook with convulsive, heartrend¬ 
ing sobs. 

She tried to stop but it was impossible, so she let 
herself go and cried until she was physically ex¬ 
hausted from her wild bursts of grief. 

Everything swept away at once! Home, rela- 



HOW COLLINS FELT ABOUT IT 189 


tives, parents, even her name! She was a homeless, 
nameless orphan,—a wanderer on the face of 
the earth! 

She knew her Uncle Homer well enough to 
understand his attitude. 

He had always objected to the presence of her 
young friends in the house. He hated anything 
that obtruded to the slightest degree on his even rou¬ 
tine of life, and many a time Antan had stood 
between Rosemary and Uncle Homer’s displeasure. 

And now, without his sister’s presence, Rose¬ 
mary was not surprised at his desire to have her 
out of his house. 

That was bad enough,—to leave Greatlarch was 
a tragedy of itself,—but it was lost sight of when 
she remembered the other and worse misfortune that 
had come to her. 

What could she do? But her brain still refused 
to plan. Every fresh realization of her parents, her 
birth, brought the tears anew, and it seemed to 
Rosemary she was at the end of her endurance. 

She could have borne the shock of her parentage 
if she could have remained at Greatlarch with Uncle 
Homer. She could have borne to leave Greatlarch 
if she could have gone forth as Rosemary Vincent, 


£\> SPOOKY HOLLOW 

in truth. But the two blows were too much for her, 
and she bent under them like one ot the slender 
white birches before the chill autumn wind. 

As she sat, motionless, her face hidden, her whole 
body shivering with cold and quivering with agony, 
she heard faint strains of music. 

“ The Wild Harp,” she thought, but so great 
was her apathy, she paid little attention to it. 

Subconsciously, she heard the weird, wailing 
sounds, an incoherent melody, eerie as a ban¬ 
shee’s cry. 

It was twilight, the early twilight of the late 
November afternoon, and as Rosemary glanced 
uneasily toward the Hollow, she imagined the Harp 
strains came from there. 

It was almost like an seolian harp, but that 
makes only accidental harmonies. This, though dis¬ 
connected and fragmentary, had a certain sequence 
of notes that betokened an intelligent agency of 
some sort. 

Abstractedly she gazed into the deepening 
shadows of the Hollow, and a sudden determination 
came to her to walk into it, and—never to come 
out. If a supernatural agency was in there, was 
making that weird music, perhaps it might attack 



HOW COLLINS FELT ABOUT IT 


191 


her and put an end to a life that had become unbear¬ 
able. Better so, she thought, and half rose to go, 
when a man's voice sounded through the gather¬ 
ing gloom. 

“ Miss Vincent! ” Prentiss exclaimed, “ out here 
all alone? You’ll catch your death of cold!” 

“ I wish I might,” she said, mournfully, scarcely 
noting or caring that she was speaking to a new and 
casual acquaintance. 

“ Now, now, my child,” Prentiss said, puzzled, 
but seeing her agitation, and quickly deciding that 
kindliness was his cue, “ don’t despair so utterly. 
Your dear auntie was much to you, but you have 
much left in life—” 

“ I have nothing left! I have no life—no name 
—no home! ” 

“ Why—what do you mean ? ” Prentiss w r as 
utterly astounded. He couldn’t imagine what she 
meant, and wondered if the tragedy had turned 
her brain. 

Rosemary hesitated a moment, but the situation 
was too strong for her. 

She had no one to turn to for advice or help. 
She had put away all thought of Bryce Collins from 
her forever. She would never face him with her 


192 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


terrible story, she would never want to hear his pity¬ 
ing sympathy. She was a nameless, homeless girl, 
not fit to be the wife of any man with a name and 
a heritage. 

Nor would she ever willingly see Lulie Eaton 
again. Lulie had been a dear friend, but Rosemary 
knew her well enough to realize that her friendship 
never would stand the strain of Uncle Homer’s story. 

The Mellishes would stand by her through thick 
and thin,—of that Rosemary was certain. But they 
were only servants, and Uncle Homer’s servants. 
What could they do for her? 

And so, the impulse to speak freely to Prentiss 
was strong. He was an intelligent, experienced man 
of the world. He might tell her what to do. 

So Rosemary did tell him, and he listened atten¬ 
tively. She gave him the facts of her parentage, as 
her uncle had related them, and she admitted her 
utter helplessness and bewilderment. 

“You poor child!” Prentiss exclaimed. “You 
dear child—” and he restrained a sudden impulse to 
take her in his arms and comfort her. 

For Rosemary was very lovely in her abandon¬ 
ment of grief. Her imploring eyes, gazing through 
tear-wet lashes, her quivering lips, beseeching help, 


HOW COLLINS FELT ABOUT IT 193 


her little hands nervously clasping one of his own, 
would have thrilled a far less impressionable man 
than the Burlington Hawkeye. 

But he quickly saw that the girl was utterly 
unconscious of his personality, utterly oblivious to 
the fact that she was appealing to his impulses, and 
that she was merely pouring out her woe to him, 
because he happened to be there, and she must speak 
or go mad. 

He said quietly, “ Suppose we go in the house, 
and sit by a comfortable fire to discuss these things. 
If you are going to leave Greatlarch, you may as 
well enjoy its comforts while you can. Come, 
won’t you? ” 

And, like a trusting child, Rosemary went 
with him. 

Homer Vincent was playing the organ as they 
entered. 

Rosemary listened a moment, and then nodded 
her head in satisfaction. At least, he was in a calm 
frame of mind. Close harmonies rolled through the 
dimly lighted house, and Rosemary led Prentiss to 
the pleasant living-room, snapped on the lights, and 
rang for Mellish to mend the fire. 

“ And bring tea, mayn’t he?” suggested Pren¬ 
tiss, and Rosemary agreed. 


194 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


“ Now,” the detective said, “ would it be better 
to call in your uncle and discuss your future plans ? 
Or shall we just talk them over by ourselves? ” 

“ By ourselves,” she said, promptly. “If Uncle 
Homer wants to, he will join us without being 
called.” 

But their talk was desultory, and without definite 
result. 

As a matter of fact, Prentiss did not believe 
Vincent would really send the girl away. He 
thought it was more likely a threat, in order to get 
her to agree to have less company and fewer intru¬ 
sions upon his own retirement and solitude. 

A strange man, Prentiss deemed Homer Vincent, 
but, after all, a just and kind one. Not a man who 
would really turn away his brother’s child, even 
though she were only an adopted daughter. 

An adopted child, he argued, who had lived all 
her life with her adopted parents and their family 
connections, was entitled to recognition of some sort. 
And though he knew Vincent’s solitary habits and 
eccentric disposition, yet he felt sure he would pro¬ 
vide properly for Rosemary either in his home or 
out of it. 

He had sympathized with her and did still, but 


HOW COLLINS FELT ABOUT IT 195 


he felt certain she was exaggerating the case, and 
that while she must realize she was not a Vincent, 
yet she would doubtless get used to that in time 
and pick up her life and happiness again. 

“ Forget it for a time, Miss Rosemary,” he said, 
as the advent of tea and hot crumpets absorbed his 
own attention. “ At least, you’ll stay here for 
the present,—while I’m tracking down this 
Johnson man.” 

“Have you any clue to his whereabouts?” the 
girl asked, half-heartedly. 

She was interested in the search for Johnson, 
but her own troubles had obliterated all thought 
of him. 

“Not quite that, but I’m going down to New 
York to look up the jewelry firms whose cards he 
left with your uncle. Surely they can tell me all 
about him,—I mean his home and habits, and that 
will help us to find him.” 

“ But if he has run away,—which, of course, he 
has,—and if he has sold that valuable ruby,—which, 
of course, he has,—he has money enough to take him 
anywhere, and he has doubtless gone out beyond 
civilization, and so, how can you ever find him ? 

“ That’s all true, but missing men are often 


196 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


found, and no criminal is quite clever enough to 
cover all his tracks. Besides, he can’t sell that 
ruby at present. It’s too large and important to 
offer to a pawnbroker or to a fence,’ as they are 
called. Still, he probably has money enough for his 
escape. I’m banking on his overlooking some trace 

or some clue that will lead me to him.” 

¥ 

“ Have you any real clues? ” 

“ Oh, yes. The business cards, the synthetic 
rubies,—surely they can be traced to the laboratory 
where they were made. Then there’s the hat and 
coat and umbrella—” 

“ You know, Mr. Prentiss, it’s too absurd to 
think of that man running away without his hat or 
coat. The umbrella he might easily forget, but not 
the others.” 

“ Oh, he didn’t forget them, as I see it. He was 
probably frightened away. Perhaps he heard the 
watchman on his rounds, or thought he heard some 
one near him. And he ran off hurriedly, without 
stopping for anything.” 

“How could he get away? The grounds are 
locked and guarded.” 

“ But, Miss Rosemary, he did get away. We’ve 
searched the place too thoroughly to allow of his 


HOW COLLINS FELT ABOUT IT 197 


concealment here. Now, as we know he did get 
away, it’s futile to guess how he did it. The thing 
is to find him.” 

“ Yes, I see that. And I hope you will recover 
my ruby. That, at least, is my own, and I don’t 
want that horrid man to have it.” 

“ I’ll surely make a try for that,” Prentiss said, 
glad to note her interest in it. 

And then, to Rosemary’s intense surprise, Homer 
Vincent and Bryce Collins came into the room 
together. 

“ Will you give us some tea? ” asked Vincent, in 
a pleasant tone, and still stupefied at Collins’ appear¬ 
ance, Rosemary tilted the teakettle over a fresh cup. 

“ We’re going to have a conclave,” Vincent said, 
as he took an easy chair, and the ubiquitous Mellish, 
suddenly appearing, set a small table beside him for 
his cup. “ Mr. Collins called to see you, Rosemary, 
and I received him; and I have told him the story 
of your birth, as I have already told it to you.” 

“ And I don’t believe a word of it! ” Bryce 
Collins declared. 

“ I wish I needn’t,” Vincent said, a little sadly. 
“ I’d rather, indeed, that Rosemary were my own 
niece. I have always loved her as such,—and this 


198 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


disclosure was bound to come sooner or later. I 
often talked it over with my sister, and we agreed 
that we never could let Rosemary marry without 
acquainting the man of her choice with the truth 
of her birth. It wouldn’t be fair to him or to her. 
I think now, it would have been better if Rosemary 
had known all her life that she was an adopted 
daughter of my brother and his wife. But they pre¬ 
ferred to let her grow up in ignorance of the fact, 
and this is the result.” 

“ I’m glad they did! ” Rosemary burst out. “ At 
least I’ve had twenty-one years of happiness,—even 
if I am miserable the rest of my days.” 

“ But you needn’t be, Rosemary,” Vincent said; 
“ as you well know, many children are adopted, and 
lead the happiest of lives. That this knowledge has 
come to you just now, is because of my brother’s 
plan of keeping you in ignorance during his life, and 
my sister’s disinclination to tell you during her life. 
I, too, would have spared you the knowledge, ex¬ 
cept, as I said, that Mr. Collins came to me, and 
asked for your hand in marriage. I could not honor¬ 
ably let him marry you under your assumed name,— 
so, what could I do, but tell him the truth? ” 

“ It is not the truth,” Bryce Collins reiterated. 

Vincent looked at him curiously. 


HOW COLLINS FELT ABOUT IT 199 


“ I don’t follow your thought, Bryce,” he said; 
“ why do you say that when I tell you the facts as 
they are? ” 

“ Because Rosemary is all Vincent,” Collins de¬ 
clared. “ Those topaz eyes of hers are just like her 
Aunt Anne’s were. Her nose is shaped like your 
own, Mr. Vincent, and she has the manner and 
ways of her aunt in many particulars.” 

“ I wish your arguments could carry weight,” 
Homer Vincent said, looking kindly at Rosemary; 
“ but let me call your attention to the fact that Mr. 
Prentiss here has eyes of that same peculiar color, 
and he is not related to the Vincents. Also, Rose¬ 
mary’s manners and ways are of course modeled on 
those of her aunt, with whom she has lived for five 
years, and also, doubtless, she learned Vincent traits 
and habits from my brother, with whom she lived 
thirteen years.” 

“Why,” Rosemary exclaimed, “I’m twenty-one, 
Uncle Homer. You make me out only eighteen! ” 

“ You were three years old when you were 
adopted, Rosemary,” Vincent said; “ you lived in the 
asylum the first three years of your life.” 

Bryce Collins looked serious. 

“ Will you give me the dates, sir? ” he said. 


200 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


“ Certainly. Suppose we all go into my Tower 
room, where are all the papers and documents refer¬ 
ring to the matter. Mr. Prentiss, will you not 
come, too? Your advice may be useful.” 

As the other two left the room, Collins drew 
Rosemary to him, and whispered, “ Trust me, dear, 
I’ll straighten out this moil. You are a Vincent, I’m 
sure of it! And I’ll prove it, too! ” 

Rosemary’s heart fell. She was glad of Bryce’s 
comforting tone, but his words meant nothing. 
She knew the story was true. She knew Homer 
Vincent was telling the facts and there was no deny¬ 
ing them. And she would have preferred Bryce’s 
assurance of his love for her, whatever her name 
might really be, to his protestations of unbelief of 
the story. 

The four, seated in the Tower room, watched 
with interest as Homer Vincent opened the sliding 
panel and took out some bundles of papers and 
letters. 

“ This is not exactly a secret panel,” he said, 
noting the curious glances, “but it is a private hiding- 
place. One has only to press this embossed orna¬ 
ment on the panel, and it slides open—as you see.” 

The Burlington Hawkeye fastened his alert eyes 



HOW COLLINS FELT ABOUT IT 201 


on the slide, but Collins paid little attention to it. He 
was eagerly awaiting a sight of the papers. 

“ There are no articles of adoption or anything 
of that sort,” Vincent said; “it is possible my 
brother had some, but at his death all his personal 
effects were put into my hands, and I searched in 
vain for some such documents. But I have here 
letters from him and from his wife, which tell in 
full detail of the adoption of little Rosemary. 

“ As may be seen from his marriage certificate, 
which I have here, my brother was married in 1904. 
Here is a letter from him and one from his bride 

telling my sister and myself of his marriage. We 

did not attend the wedding as he was travelling in 
France at the time, and was married in Paris. 

“ Here is a whole packet of letters from both of 
them, written in the year following. You may read 
them at your leisure, Rosemary, and indeed, they 
are at the disposal of any one interested. They 

tell of the happiness of the young couple, and of 

their joy in anticipation of the advent of a child. 

“ Later here are the letters that tell of the birth 
of a daughter in 1905. And sad letters follow, 
telling of the early death of the baby. Soon after 
that,—here is the letter,—they decided to adopt a 


202 SPOOKY HOLLOW 

little one in hope of easing the heart of the sorrow¬ 
ing mother. 

“ Visiting the asylum, they were struck by the 
beauty and charm of a child of three years,—our 
Rosemary. My sister-in-law preferred a child older 
than a mere infant, and, too, they thought she showed 
a vague likeness to the Vincents. This explains, 
Bryce, the resemblance you have noted. 

“ So the little girl was taken into their home, at 
first on trial, and then gladly adopted permanently. 
I daresay it was because of the temporary arrange¬ 
ment at first, that papers of adoption were not for¬ 
mally made out. Or it may be that my brother did 
not wish them. At any rate, there were none drawn 
up, and the little Rosemary simply grew up as the 
real daughter of her adopted parents. I do not mean 
that my brother and his wife pretended she was 
their own child, or wished to deceive anybody. But 
she was as a daughter to them, and when, at her 
mother’s death, Rosemary and her father went to 
live in Seattle, he said nothing about her adoption 
and she passed as his own. All this I learned from 
his letters, which were regular though not frequent 
throughout his life. Then, when his sudden death 
occurred, in a frightful motor accident, I went out 


HOW COLLINS FELT ABOUT IT 203 


there at once, settled up his estate and brought 
Rosemary home with me. 

“ Knowing she was ignorant of the truth, my 
sister and I never told her. Often we talked it over, 
often had anxious and worried hours wondering 
what was our duty, and how best to tell Rosemary 
what she must eventually know. 

“ And then my sister was taken from me, and I 
had to face our family problem alone. There was but 
one way open to me. Rosemary has grown to be a 
woman. No longer a child, the truth was her due, 
and she had to have it. No woman would want to 
be allowed to marry a man in ignorance of such a 
truth. No man should be allowed to marry a woman 
under such a delusion. Tell me, Rosemary, tell me, 
Bryce, tell me, Mr. Prentiss, did I not do right, did 
I not do my duty, however hard a task, when I told 
Rosemary the truth? ” 

Homer Vincent’s face was troubled, his voice 
shook a little, but he looked squarely in the faces of 
one after another as he awaited their answers. 

Rosemary, sobbing, could not respond. Bryce 
Collins, convinced at last, was speechless with sur¬ 
prise and consternation. 


204 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


So the Burlington Hawkeye answered. He spoke 
slowly and cautiously. 

“ I suppose, Mr. Vincent, there was no other 
way to proceed. You are sure of all you have 
told us? ” 

“ There are the letters.” Homer Vincent spoke 
wearily, as if worn out by the harrowing scene. “ As 
you can see, they are written and posted in Paris 
on the dates I have mentioned. Good heavens, man, 
do you suppose I trumped up this yarn? The let¬ 
ters bear their truth stamped on their face! I have 
scores more of my brother’s letters, you may com¬ 
pare them—but,” his voice dropped to a quieter key, 
“ you have only to read those letters from my sister- 
in-law, to realize that they are from a heartbroken 
mother mourning the loss of her own baby, and later 
from a cheerful-hearted woman glad in the posses¬ 
sion of her adopted little one.” 

“ I don’t remember anything about being in the 
asylum,” Rosemary said, slowly. “ Don’t children 
remember their experiences at three years old? ” 

“ You never did,” Vincent said. “ Your aunt 
and I frequently quizzed you when you first came 
here, to see how far back you could remember. And 


HOW COLLINS FELT ABOUT IT 205 


you never spoke of anything that happened before 
you lived with my brother.” 

“ Yes,” Rosemary said, “ I remember such ques¬ 
tionings by you and Antan.” 

Prentiss had been reading the letters hastily, but 
with deep absorption. 

“Of course it’s true,” he said, throwing down 
the last one. “ Those letters are too positively 
genuine to admit of the slightest doubt. But would 
you not think that Mr. Carl Vincent would have 
made some provision for his adopted daughter in 
his will?” 

“ I have no doubt he meant to do so,” Vincent 
returned. “ But he, like many another man, post¬ 
poned the matter, and then death overtook him with¬ 
out warning. But no one can say that my sister 
and myself treated Rosemary as other than our 
own niece. We have indulged her every whim; 
given her every luxury, and surrounded her with 
all the joys and comforts of a beautiful home. If 
now, that my sister is no longer here, and I, myself, 
am in advancing years,—if now, I feel that I cannot 
have the responsibility of the ordering of the life 
of a vivacious young lady,—it can scarcely be won¬ 
dered at. And, since I am willing to make generous 


206 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


provision for her maintenance, and since she is not 
really a blood-relative of mine, I feel that I should 
not be too severely criticized for consulting my own 
well-being in the matter.” 

“ As you always have done and always will do! ” 
blurted out Collins. “ You are a selfish, self-indul¬ 
gent, self-centered man, Mr. Vincent! You have no 
sympathy nor consideration for the helpless girl you 
thrust from your roof! You!—” 

“ Just a moment, Mr. Collins. What about your¬ 
self ? Do you want to marry the nameless girl you 
thought was my niece? Do you want to give your 
children a nameless mother? Where now are your 
protestations of love and devotion to Rosemary?” 

Collins put a strong, protecting arm round the 
sobbing girl beside him. 

“ My love and devotion are stronger than ever,” 
he declared. “ I do want to marry her—and at once. 
It matters not to me who her parents were—she is 
my love—my Rosemary! ” 


CHAPTER XI 


A RUN OVER TO FRANCE 

But if Bryce Collins was willing to stand by 
his love and loyalty to Ms sweetheart, Rosemary was 
by no means acquiescent. 

She positively refused to marry Bryce or to be 
engaged to him. 

“ It will not do,” she told him. “ Your mother 
would never agree, and I would never marry you 
against her wishes. Oh, Bryce, can’t you see it 
as I do? I should be utterly miserable as your 
wife, unrecognized,—or even unwillingly recog¬ 
nized by your people. I, who have always consid¬ 
ered myself a Vincent, whose fine line of stainless 
names has been my inspiration as well as my pride, 
now to find myself not only no Vincent, but of no 
known parentage whatever! Bryce, you can’t real¬ 
ize what that means to me. My parents may have 
been anybody—anybody at all! I may have in my 
veins the blood of ignorant, low-bred people, even? 
criminals! It is appalling,—I can’t bear to think 
of it. But I must think of it,—I must face it, and 

207 


208 ' 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


plan my life accordingly. I shall never marry, of 
that I am certain. It would be unfair to my hus¬ 
band, unfair to my children. I would be willing 
to stay right here with Uncle Homer, and never 
have any company or go anywhere. But he won’t 
have me. Nobody wants me. I am an outcast, a 
wanderer on the face of the earth.” 

Rosemary did not say this by way of appealing 
to Collins’ sympathy, nor was it a mere dramatic 
cry on her part. She was thinking aloud more 
than talking to him, and she really felt her utter 
friendliness, loneliness, and homelessness. It was 
a cry from her very soul, and it went straight to 
Collins’ heart. 

“ Rosemary,” he said, and his thin, dark face 
was strong with purpose,—“ I am going to find 
your parents. I want you anyway, dear,—nameless 
or a Princess Royal,—it’s all the same to me. You 
are my own Rosemary. But I know, for your own 
sake, this thing must be cleared up. And for mine, 
—for ours, Rosemary. I know you too well to 
believe you are of anything but gentle birth. Such 
features and mental traits as yours never belonged 
to an ignorant or low-born ancestry. I can’t help 


A RUN OVER TO FRANCE 


209 


thinking you are a Vincent—maybe they adopted 
a cousin or distant relative—” 

“ No, Bryce, that’s impossible. Uncle Homer 
is most clannish and loyal to his kindred. If I had 
the slightest claim to the Vincent name, he would 
stand by me. And he is standing by me. We 
must remember, Bryce, that he had to tell me about 
this,—he couldn’t let me marry you under a name 
not my own. Could he? ” 

“ No, Rosemary, he couldn’t. I do see that. 
But his putting you out of the house—” 

“ You don’t know him, Bryce. Uncle Homer 
is a peculiar man, but his strange ways are simple, 
after all. He only asks to be let alone, to enjoy 
himself in his own way.” 

“ And isn’t that infernally selfish? ” 

“ Not so much so as you think. He loves his 
books, his music, his collections of curios and pic¬ 
tures, and he wants to enjoy them unbothered by 
people about, especially young people. He fre¬ 
quently has guests of his own age, and he is a 
charming and courteous host. Now, if I were 
really his niece, really a Vincent, I might resent his 
not wanting me here. But when he is so fond of 
solitude, and freedom from interruption, when I 


14 


210 SPOOKY HOLLOW 

am not the slightest relation to him, when he says 
he is willing to give me a fair allowance,—why 
should he feel any further responsibility for me, or 
any obligation to let me remain at Greatlarch? ” 

“ As you put it, Rosemary, it is logical enough, 
but in all these years he must have learned to 
love you—” 

“ Ah, Bryce, that’s the worst of it. He didn’t 
and it has been my own fault. Antan loved me, 
because she sympathized with my gay disposition 
and love of social life. But Uncle Homer didn’t 
like my everlasting running about, as he called it, 
and,—here’s the trouble,—I took no pains to please 
him, or to give up my inclinations to his. I was 
the selfish one, I thought only of my gayeties, 
my dances, and my friends, and I ignored Uncle’s 
wishes, and even deceived him often as to my 
doings. Oh, I was more to blame than he, that he 
didn’t love me as Antan did. And as I sowed the 
wind, now I am reaping the whirlwind.” 

Rosemary’s lovely, wistful eyes looked into 
Collins’ own and she shook her head in utter dis¬ 
approval of her own past conduct. 

“ Tell him you’ll do differently now. Tell him 
you’ll stay at home and look after his comforts and 
order his household for him—” 




A RUN OVER TO FRANCE 


211 


“ He doesn’t want me or need me,” Rosemary 
said, the sad tears filling her eyes. “ Mellish and 
Melly can do everything he wants, they know his 
ways, and they are devotion itself. The few little 
things I could do in their absence would not com¬ 
pensate to Uncle for the bother of having me around. 
He doesn’t want me, Bryce, that’s all. And as there 
is no reason why he should have me here, of course 
I must go. But where can I go? 

“ Don’t think I am whining—or playing the 
martyr. I hate such a spirit. And I am going to 
brace up and bear this thing bravely,—but, oh, 
Bryce, it is so hard to bear, and it came to me so 
suddenly,—it was so undreamed of! Don’t despise 
me for giving way to my despair.” 

“ Despise you! My darling—I love you more 
every minute! ” 

They were alone in the living-room, Homer 
Vincent at the organ on the other side of the house. 
They could hear the low strains of mournful music 
now and then, and Rosemary knew his soul was 
troubled. 

But so was her own, and while Bryce Collins’ 
love was a solace, yet the very fact that she must 
thrust that love away from her made her grief the 
more poignant. 


212 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


He led her into the embrasure of a south window 
and took her in his arms. 

“ Rosemary,” he said, and her lifted face showed 
white and drawn in the moonlight, “ sweetheart, I 
am yours. My heart is devoted to you and to your 
service. If you will marry me at once, I will brave 
my parents’ displeasure, I will marry you under the 
name of Rosemary Vincent, and we will go away 
and establish a home of our own, where no one 
shall ever know more about you than that.” 

“No, Bryce, it can’t be done that way. No 
minister would marry me by a name to which I have 
no right. Oh, I wish Uncle had told me long ago. 
I wish my father had told me—Bryce, he couldn’t 
have been more like a real father if I had been born 
his child! He loved me with a true fatherly 
affection—” 

“ Well, we know he was not your father, dear. 
There’s no getting away from those letters. Is 
there? ” 

“ No, I’ve read them all over and over. They’re 
true as Gospel.” 

“Then, let’s face facts. If you won’t,—if you 
can’t marry me now, we must find a nice, snug 




A RUN OVER TO FRANCE 


213 


home for you, and I shall set about finding out 
your history.” 

“ You can’t do that, Bryce.” 

“ Can’t I ? Well, I can make a pretty big stab 
at it! Do you happen to know, my little love, that 
your future husband has quite some persistency? 
Quite some of what is known as bulldog stick-to-it- 
ativeness! And what I set out to do, I most gener¬ 
ally sometimes always accomplish! So, dear little 
girl, try to possess your soul in patience till your 
ardent cavalier can run over to France and back and 
then we’ll see what we shall see! ” 

“ To France! You can’t mean it! ” 

“ But I do mean it, and if you’ll go, IT1 take you 
with me.” 

“ No, Bryce, we can’t marry. On that point 
I’m positive.” 

“ Well, then, it’s merely a postponed wedding. 
Don’t you dare fall in love with any one else while 
I’m gone.” 

For answer Rosemary put her soft arms round 
his neck and kissed him voluntarily. It was the first 
time she had ever done so, and Collins clasped 
her close. 

“ My little girl,” he whispered, “ my darling little 


214 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


girl, with your love to look forward to, with you to 

win, I can do anything! accomplish any task. I shall 

/ 

go to the asylum where you were adopted, and I 
haven’t the slightest doubt that I can trace your 
parentage. Of course they have records, and I shall 
insist on seeing them.” 

“ I’m afraid, Bryce,—afraid of what you may 
find out—” 

“I will ask you, mademoiselle, to have more re¬ 
spect for my future wife! I allow no one, not even 
you, to imply the least disparagement of her birth or 
breeding. So, kindly refrain from such comment! 
When I return from my quest I will announce to 
you the details of her illustrious lineage! ” 

But Rosemary was not comforted by Collins’ gay 
chatter. She had a foreboding that his investigation, 
if he really made one, might bring to light more and 
worse facts than those already known. For, poor 
Rosemary thought, people don’t put their children in 
orphan asylums if everything is all right and proper. 

“ It’s awful, Bryce,” she said, “ not to have 
the least idea whether you’re the child of decent 
people, or scum of the earth! ” 

“ Don’t talk like that, dear. The suspense, the 
uncertainty is awful,—oh, I appreciate your feel- 


A RUN OVER TO FRANCE 


215 


ings, darling, but these conditions we have to face, 
and we must face them bravely. Now, I shall get 
from Mr. Vincent all the addresses of the asylum 
in question and the various residences of your 
adopted parents while they remained in France, and 
then, if necessary, I shall follow up your father’s 
removal to Seattle, and go there to learn what I can.” 

“ You never can trace it, Bryce, you can’t delve 
into matters so far back, as you might do if the 
dates were later. The war, doubtless, caused the loss 
of lots of records and statistics, and you never can 
get the truth from those old archives.” 

“ Now, my little Cassandra, no more of these 
dismal forebodings. No more cold water to be 
thrown on my projects,—if you please. And I’ll tell 
you another thing. After I get you all straightened 
out as to vital statistics, I’m going to devote my 
energies to tracking down the murderer of your 
aunt. I don’t believe those addle-pated policemen 
will ever get anywhere. Oh, yes, I know that Bur¬ 
lington man is alert and promises well. But if he 
doesn’t succeed in getting at the bottom of the mys¬ 
tery, I will! Now, my little love, do you begin to 
realize what a determined man you’ve got to put up 
with for the rest of your life? Just as soon as I get 


216 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


matters fixed up to my liking you’ll be wooed and 
married and to a tyrant worse than any feudal 
lord you ever read about in mediaeval history! ” 

But Rosemary was not deceived by his banter. 
She knew he meant it all, but she knew the obstacles 
in his path, and without unnecessary doubt she 
clearly foresaw the opposition his plans would receive 
from his own people. 

Bryce Collins had an independent fortune left 
him by his grandfather, but it was not large enough 
to preclude his having a business of his own. Nor 
did he mean to go through life without working and 
earning. But now, fired with enthusiasm over these 
new plans of his, he proposed to use his inheritance 
and postpone his business career, which, naturally, 
would not seem wise to his parents. 

And Collins was a devoted son, and on the best 
of terms with his family. Also his mother admired 
Rosemary, and was glad at the hope of an alliance 
between her son and the Vincent family. But in 
view of the new developments, Bryce Collins well 
knew the quick turn that his mother’s inclinations 
would take. 

With his volatile nature, however, he put from 
him all unpleasant anticipations, and gave himself 








A RUN OVER TO FRANCE 


217 


up to the joy of being with Rosemary and of com¬ 
forting her by his presence and by his love, in spite 
of her forebodings. 

When Collins detailed his plans to Homer Vin¬ 
cent, he was given a patient and thoughtful hearing. 

“You propose to go to France and to Seattle 
both? ” Vincent asked, for the young man’s enthusi¬ 
astic statements were a bit incoherent. 

“If necessary, sir. You see, I must get at the 
truth of things. I mean I must find out who were 
the real parents of Rosemary.” 

“ You’re not afraid of what that discovery may 
mean—to you—and to her? ” 

“ I’ve thought about that, Mr. Vincent, and it 
seems to me the truth, however disappointing, will be 
better than ignorance. If Rosemary is of decent and 
legitimate birth, I don’t care how lowly her origin. 
If, however, she is of disgraceful ancestry, then I 
shall take her away from here to some distant place, 
and try to make her forget it all.” 

Rryce Collins’ young face was somber and his 
strong jaw was sternly set in his intensity of purpose. 

“ You are taking a fine stand, Collins,” Homer 
Vincent said, “ and I admire your pluck and your 
loyalty to Rosemary. But my advice would be to 


218 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


let sleeping dogs lie. Aside from the fact that a 
trip to France at this late date would in all probability 
be a wild-goose chase, there is also an even chance 
that your discoveries, if you make any, will be 
disappointing.” 

“ What is your advice, then, sir? ” 

“ I don’t know what to say. But, though I’m not 
at all sure it’s right, I would be willing to ignore 
the whole matter of Rosemary’s birth and, if you 
are willing, let her marry you as Rosemary Vincent, 
my niece.” 

“Does no one else know the truth?” Collins 
was thinking quickly. 

“ Only the detective, Prentiss. I believe, in her 
frenzied surprise the girl told him. But I’m sure we 
can pledge him to secrecy. You understand, Collins, 
I never would have let her marry you as my niece 
without telling you both the truth. But since you 
know it, if you care to adopt such a course, I will- 
do my part. I will give her a wedding, small and 
quiet, of course, as the house is in mourning, and I 
will never divulge the secret of her adoption.” 

Collins thought this over. 

“ I don’t know what to say, Mr. Vincent,” he 
said, at last. “ I confess I am tempted to do this 









A RUN OVER TO FRANCE 


219 


thing. It is the line of least resistance, and quite 
the simplest way out of our difficulty. But, beside 
the question of Rosemary and myself, we must think 
of our possible children. You know as well as I do 
that, while in America ancestry and lineage is not 
looked upon as it is in England, yet if, in time to 
come, there should be discovered any stigma on my 
wife’s name, is it a fair deal to the innocent babes 
who may be born to us? ” 

“ That is a question for your own consideration, 
Bryce.” Vincent spoke gravely. “ I feel strongly 
about family ties myself. I admit I have never felt 
toward Rosemary as I should have felt toward a 
child of my brother’s own. But it is too hard on 
her to tell her these things. She is a sweet, sensitive 
nature,—a dear girl in every way. But she is not 
my kin. Yet, as I said, I will keep her secret, if you 
wish me to.” 

“ No! ” and Collins’ face took on a look of even 
sterner determination. “ No, I cannot do it. I 
love Rosemary too well, too deeply, not to try, at 
least, to vindicate her claim to honor and right. I 
shall go on my quest,—at most, it will not take me 
more than about a month, and I shall find out some¬ 
thing,—or learn that nothing can be found out. In 


220 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


the latter case, I will, perhaps, give your proposition 
further consideration. I will ask you to keep the 
secret until my return. Can you—will you do this?” 

“ I will if I can. But since Prentiss knows it, it 
is in danger of further publicity. What is your 
project, in detail ? ” 

“ I’ve planned nothing further than to go to that 
asylum from which Rosemary was taken. You have 
the address of that, have you not? ” 

“Yes, and all the addresses of my brother’s 
residences in Paris and some suburban towns. They 
moved two or three times. You will, of course, 
return here before going to Seattle, if you conclude 
to go there? ” 

“ Yes, and I hope I shall not have to go out there. 
But I know there is no use in writing to these places, 
or sending any sort of an emissary. Only my own 
desperate determination can accomplish my ends, 
if indeed I can accomplish them at all. Now, an¬ 
other thing. May not Rosemary stay here with 
you until my return? I cannot think you will turn 
her from your door.” 

“ It isn’t exactly turning her out,” Vincent said, 
looking troubled. “ But,—well, as man to man> 
Collins, I may as well admit that I’m what is known 



A RUN OVER TO FRANCE 


221 


as a woman-hater. I loved my dear sister, but I have 
never cared for any other woman, and I long for a 
home without a woman in it,—except as a ser¬ 
vant. This may seem strange to you,—perhaps 
it is strange. But you must realize that alone in 
my home I can pursue my own avocations, I can have 
things just as I want them, I can have the uninter¬ 
rupted solitude that I love; when, with Rosemary 
here, the whole atmosphere is changed, the whole 
house on a different basis. This is really not un¬ 
reasonable; I am aging, I am a bit eccentric, I have 
suffered a terrible tragedy, and I have no real respon¬ 
sibility toward my brother’s adopted child, outside of 
her financial maintenance; and, so, I hold that it is 
not my bounden duty to keep Rosemary here.” 

“ That is all true, but won’t you consent, even 
to keep her here until my return ? You’ve promised to 
keep her secret until then—if you can. Surely 
to send her away would rouse suspicion against her 
of some sort. I am sure she will agree to annoy you 
by her presence as little as possible. She can keep 
out of your way—” 

“ Oh, don’t.make me out an ogre! ” Vincent ex¬ 
claimed. “ Of course, she can stay here—for a 
month or two. As I have had her here for five years 


222 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


—but, you see, Bryce, it was very different when my 
sister was here. She stood between me and any 
nuisance the girl might have been. She kept Rose¬ 
mary in a sort of subjection, which I see now, with 
her aunt’s restraint missing, has utterly vanished. 
She permeates the household,—unconsciously, of 
course, but breezily, noisily, as any young girl would. 
I can’t deny her the visits of her young friends en¬ 
tirely, yet when they come they are laughing and 
chattering all over the house, and it annoys me 
frightfully. Absurd, you would say. But you can’t 
realize the difference between the viewpoint of an 
enthusiastic young fellow and a world-weary, 
hermit-souled old man.” 

“ You’re far from an old man, Mr. Vincent, but 
I do understand what you mean, and I can see it 
from your point of view. And I realize that if 
Rosemary were really your niece, things would be 
very different. However, I’m going to hold you 
to your agreement that she may stay here a 
month or so, until I can run over to Paris and 
back. Then—” 

“Collins, I’m not sure I ought to say this,—and 
yet, it’s only fair to warn you of even a remote possi¬ 
bility. You know, those detectives have no theory, 


A RUN OVER TO FRANCE 


223 


no idea of how my sister’s murder was accomplished. 
Nor have I, for that matter. But since we know it 
was accomplished, since some murderer did, some¬ 
how, gain access to that locked room, and get out 
again, we must assume some diabolically clever crimi¬ 
nal. Now, you must not overlook the possibility that 
it may have been some one of Rosemary’s relatives,— 
some one who has watched over her career, secretly, 
meaning to profit in some wicked way by the girl’s 
good fortune. This may seem far-fetched, but what 
theory does not seem so? At any rate, suppose the 
murderer of my sister should turn out to be some 
evil-minded relative of Rosemary’s real parents, do 
you want to delve into the matter? ” 

“ Yes, I do. Even though there is a possibility 
of what you suggest, I deem it so remote a one that 
it is almost negligible. I have determined to go to 
France; I shall tell my people it is merely a travel 
tour, they will raise no objection. And I will ask 
you to preserve Rosemary’s secret, in so far as you 
can. Your definite request will ensure Prentiss’ 
silence, I am certain. And, Mr. Vincent, if your 
hinted theory should prove true, at least you will 
have achieved the solution of the mystery of Miss 


224 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


Anne’s terrible death. It is one of my strongest de¬ 
sires to avenge her memory, and once the matter of 
Rosemary’s birth is settled, I shall turn my attention 
to the murder tragedy, if it has not by that time 
been discovered.” 

“ You are a determined man, Bryce, and while I 
admire your indomitable perseverance, I wish I felt 
more faith in your success. I doubt your making 
any discoveries at all in France, but if you are bent 
on going, I will give you all those old addresses, 
and letters, if you want them, to various people who 
may help you in your search. In all probability the 
asylum will have the old records of Rosemary’s adop¬ 
tion by my brother, but will they have the statistics 
to prove who her own parents were ? Still, as I said, 
I will give you all these documents, if you are bent 
on going.” 

“ I am bent on going,” said Bryce Collins. 

And go he did. Obstacles fell before him like 
grain before the reaper. His determination was so 
strong, his will so powerful, that he made his depar¬ 
ture possible and speedy. 

Rosemary knew his errand, and imbued with his 
own hopefulness, she bade him Godspeed. 

But she did not know she remained at Greatlarch 






A RUN OVER TO FRANCE 225 

only on sufferance and because of Collins* insistent 
plea to her uncle. 

Vincent treated her kindly but with no words of 
love or sympathy. Indeed, his words were few and 
his manner self-absorbed and often seeming utterly 
oblivious to her presence. 

Rosemary did not resent this. She quite under¬ 
stood her uncle’s attitude toward her, she well knew 
his distaste for her presence. And she felt, at times, 
that she would gladly go away. But the charm of 
the place, and her great love for it, held her there, 
as well as her ignorance of the world and her feeling 
of inability to face its unknown and perhaps un¬ 
friendly possibilities. 

She wrote notes to Lulie Eaton and a few other 
girl friends, asking them not to come to see her for 
the present. And she gave Mellish orders to admit 
none of the young men who came to call on her. 

She was determined to think things out for her¬ 
self, but she could not do this all at once. It was 
all so new and unaccustomed,—this thinking for 
herself. All her life her plans had been made for 
her, in important matters. She had willingly acqui¬ 
esced in all Antan’s advices, knowing that the aunt 


15 






226 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


who loved her would give all the liberty and pleasure 
that could be hers. 

And now, she had no one to whom to turn for 
advice or for information. Even Prentiss, who 
was friendly, was away on his investigations in 
New York. 

There remained only the two Mellishes and little 
Francine. 

Reduced to the society of servants or none at all, 
Rosemary did talk over her affairs with good 
Susan Mellish. 

“ Never fear, dearie,” that kind woman said; 
“ it’ll all come out right. Your uncle is for now 
that worrited there’s no doing anything with him. 
But these detective men, they’ll find out the wicked 
villain and they’ll hang him high! Or, what’s more 
belike, they’ll find there was no mortal murderer, and 
then they’ll know -where to look! ” 

For Mrs. Mellish was strong in her belief that 
the hand that slew Anne Vincent was the phantom 
hand of the dead Mrs. Lamont. 

And there were those who agreed with her. 


CHAPTER XII 


A NAMELESS, HOMELESS WAIF 

Although Prentiss had gone to New York in 
search of information concerning Johnson, the local 
police of Hilldale were by no means idle. 

They searched and researched the premises of 
Greatlarch, both in the house and about the grounds. 
The room that Johnson had occupied they studied 
over and over, in their efforts to learn something 
further of the man’s personality. They left his few 
belongings where they found them, deducing nothing 
beyond the general facts of a business man on a 
hasty trip. 

The entire absence of letters or personal papers 
was peculiar in itself, but there was no conclusion to 
be drawn from it. The fact that his clothing was 
new and unmarked was thought to be a suspicious 
circumstance, but it led to no definite suspicion. 

It was a favorite remark among the detectives 

that Sherlock Holmes could have deduced the whole 

man from his few articles of luggage, but Sherlock 

Holmes was not there, and the men who were 

227 








228 SPOOKY HOLLOW 

there only looked at the things blankly and with¬ 
out inspiration. 

The same with Miss Anne Vincent’s room. 

Day after day they surveyed the beautiful 
appointments there. Again and again they drew 
back the heavy silk hangings that fell round the head 
of the bed and scanned the bed anew. The sheets 
with their crimson stains had been removed, but 
were still kept at the Police Station as possible 
evidence. 

The wall safe, from which the great ruby had 
presumably been stolen, was examined frequently, 
and all the details of Miss Anne’s personal belong¬ 
ings had been studied to no avail whatsoever. 

There were the two rooms, one above the other, 
the rooms, all agreed, of victim and criminal, yet 
from neither room could a single fact be deduced 
that was of helpful significance. 

Police reconstruction of the crime,—for they 
took no cognizance of suicide or of spooks,—set 
forth that Johnson had spent the entire night in 
preparation for his crime, and in waiting for dawn 
to bring his chosen moment. That he had, as soon 
as the watchman went indoors, unlocked Miss Anne’s 
door with some clever sort of key, had killed the 


» 


A NAMELESS, HOMELESS WAIF 229 

lady, stolen the ruby, and then, relocking the door 
with his patent contraption, had easily made his way 
out of the front door, when the family were still 
asleep and the servants busy in the kitchen quarters. 

Almost superhuman cleverness they conceded this 
criminal, but, they argued, only such diabolical in¬ 
genuity could have perpetrated such a mysterious 
crime. 

Their decisions were arrived at by elimination. 
There was no other suspect, there was no other 
means of procedure. The only thing to do was to 
catch the man. This, they hoped, Prentiss would 
accomplish. 

But the Burlington Hawkeye returned from an 
unsuccessful search. 

His report, given to Homer Vincent, in the pres¬ 
ence of Brewster and Brown, was disappointing in 
the extreme. 

“ There isn’t any Henry Johnson,” he declared, 
looking both crestfallen and defiant at once. “ I 
went to the address you gave me, Mr. Vincent,— 
the address he gave you, and they declared they 
never had heard of him there. Then I visited those 
two jewelry firms, of which he left you the cards, 
and they said they had never heard of any Henry 


230 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


Johnson in connection with ruby manufacturing. 
They spoke of a Mr. Markham or Markheim who 
made synthetic rubies, but that was of no interest 
to me. I begged them to search their books and 
records to find Johnson’s name. They were most 
obliging but utterly unsuccessful.” 

“ What else did you do? ” Brewster asked. 

“ Oh, lots of things. I went to the stores where 
he must have bought his coat and hat, but I couldn’t 
trace any sale. This is not to be wondered at, of 
course. I only tried it on a chance. But that um¬ 
brella, now. That is a new one. I wish I had 
taken it with me. However, I went to the store it 
came from and asked what monograms they had put 
on umbrellas recently. Not an H. J. amongst them! 
As I say, I didn’t really hope to find out these things, 
but I took a chance.” 

“You did well, Mr. Prentiss,” Homer Vincent 
assured him. “ Where there’s nothing to find out, 
you can’t, of course, find out anything. But I’m 
surprised that the jewelry firms repudiated all knowl¬ 
edge of him. Do you suppose he was entirely a 
fake? Do you suppose he came here merely to rob 
and murder, and that the ruby story was all 
made up? ” 





A NAMELESS, HOMELESS WAIF 231 


“ I do suppose just that, Mr. Vincent,” Brewster 
declared. “ And probably his name wasn’t Johnson 
at all—” 

“ There’s the umbrella,” put in Prentiss. 

“ I know,” Brewster assented, “ but that may 
have been made for a Hiram Judkins or a Hugh 
Jennings.” 

“ That’s so,” said Vincent, thoughtfully. “ Or 
perhaps he stole the umbrella somewhere.” 

“ Yes, the umbrella gets us nowhere,” and Pren¬ 
tiss sighed. “ I feel as if I’d accomplished nothing, 
and yet it is something to have learned that the 
Johnson name was assumed—” 

“ Not necessarily,” objected Brown. “ You see, 
he may be named Henry Johnson all right, and yet 
have made up all the ruby business.” 

“ If he came here with intent to rob and murder, 
he most certainly didn’t announce his true name,” 
Brewster declared, and his words carried conviction. 

“ Then,” Vincent summed up, “ we have a 
criminal with a definite purpose, who came under an 
assumed name, and carried out his plans successfully 
to the smallest detail. I remember, now, his asking 
me rather particularly as to the watchman’s rounds 
and all that. But, of course, I never suspected any¬ 
thing wrong.” 





232 SPOOKY HOLLOW 

“ Of course not,” Prentiss said. “ Now Fd like 
to see that butler of yours again.” 

“ Surely,” said Vincent, and rang for Mellish. 

That worthy came in, and contrary to his habitual 
calm, he exhibited a hint of suppressed excitement. 

“ Will you look what Hoskins found, sir,” he 
said, holding out his hand toward Vincent. 

As all could see, he held a long amber and ivory 
cigarette-holder. 

It was one of those extremely long ones that are 
affected by the ultrafashionable. 

“ Where was this found? ” Vincent asked, look¬ 
ing at it attentively, and then passing it over 
to Prentiss. 

“ Hoskins found it, sir, out in the grounds. 
Or maybe the gardener found it and gave it to 
Hoskins. But it’s the one Mr. Johnson used, sir. 
and I opine he lost it as he hurried on his way.” 

“You remember it?” Prentiss inquired of 
the butler. 

“ Oh, yes, sir. I noticed it when Mr. Johnson 
used it at the table, sir. After dinner, he took no 
cigar, but took a cigarette, which he fitted into that 
outlandish thing, sir!” 

Mellish’s scorn of the eccentric implement was 
evident on his face. 






A NAMELESS, HOMELESS WAIF 


233 


“ They're quite fashionable now,—I’ve seen 
them in use ” said Brown, with an air of wide ex¬ 
perience. “ And see, here’s the H. J. monogram 
again! The fellow’s initials must be H. J. whether 
his name is Henry Johnson or not.” 

“ Unless he stole this thing and the umbrella 
from the same party,” argued Prentiss. “ Wonder 
if we could trace the cigarette-holder. It looks rather 
valuable, and a specialty shop, where such a thing 
was doubtless bought, might remember the buyer.” 

“ Keep it carefully,” Brewster admonished him; 
“ it’s a good bit of evidence,—maybe a real clue! 
Where was it found, exactly? ” 

“ I don’t know the precise spot,” Mellish said; 
“ but I opine it was somewhere on the east lawn. 
The gardener is working there to-day.” 

“ Would that be on his way out of the grounds?” 
Brown inquired. 

“ It might be,” Vincent returned, slowly. “ Or, 
he may have been walking about outside—” 

“Killing time until the dawn broke!” Brown 
exclaimed. “ Oh, I’m sure we can get a line from 
that thing. It’s most unusual,—not common at all.” 

“ You go down to New York then, on this 
errand,” Prentiss said; “ I don’t want to go right 
back there.” 



234 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


“ All right, I’ll go,” Brown agreed, rather liking 
the idea. 

“ And I thought, Mr. Vincent,” Prentiss con¬ 
tinued, “ you might recall some more data about 
the synthetic rubies. You see, even if he faked that 
whole ruby proposition, at least he must have known 
enough about the matter to make a good showing 
before you and your sister. You would have known 
if he had been a mere layman. He couldn’t have 
made you believe he was an expert without knowing 
a good deal about the processes and all that.” 

“ That’s true,” Vincent agreed. “ But, knowing 
little or nothing of the subject myself, I daresay 
I was not in a position to be critical of his explana¬ 
tions and descriptions.” 

“ I opine,” Mellish said, speaking deferentially 
but with a look of pride at his master, “that Mr. Vin¬ 
cent is not so ignorant of these things. You remem¬ 
ber, sir, there was another gentleman here not more 
than a month ago, who also wanted to interest you in 
the making of imitation rubies.” 

“ Why, yes, that’s so,” Vincent said; “ I had for¬ 
gotten that. But I daresay the market is full of 
such things. The process, recently invented,—or 
perhaps I should say discovered,—has doubtless been 


A NAMELESS, HOMELESS WAIF 235 


taken up by various would-be lapidaries. Well, does 

all this get you anywhere, Mr. Prentiss? ” 

* 

“ We have only one goal, sir, the whereabouts of 
the man who called himself Henry Johnson, whether 
that is his true name or not. I think no one can 
doubt he killed Miss Vincent, even though we cannot 
yet determine his exact method. But given this mys¬ 
terious visitor, his mysterious disappearance, and the 
immediate discovery of the robbery and murder, we 
cannot think otherwise than that he is the criminal. 
He may not have intended murder, in the beginning. 
He may have used the ruby chatter to induce Miss 
Vincent to exhibit her splendid jewel,—of which he 
must have known,—and then, when he endeavored 
to steal it and make away, very possibly she awoke 
and would have made an outcry, had he not silenced 
her. Burglars often commit murder because of a 
sudden danger of exposure.” 

“ That is all true, Mr. Prentiss,” Vincent agreed; 
“ I had not thought of that sequence of events at 
my sister’s bedside. It may well have been just as 
you suggest. Granting his ability to get in and out 
of that room,—and you have suggested an explana¬ 
tion of that,—I feel sure there can be no doubt of 
Johnson’s guilt. Now, we must find him. It is 






236 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


imperative. Can any one suggest any further or 
more far-reaching plan ? ” 

“ It is hard to circumvent such fiendish ingenuity 
as that man has showed.” Brown spoke vindictively. 
“ We have, of course, inquired at all the near-by rail¬ 
way stations. I assumed he might have walked to 
some one of them and boarded a train there. But we 
find no trace of such a thing.” 

“ More likely,” Brewster said, “ he walked to a 
near-by town, and after a rest and a breakfast walked 
on to another, and so on, until he was far enough 
away to take a train without fear of detection. In a 
large town he could do that, but not in one of our 
small villages.” 

“ There are many ways he could escape,” said 
Vincent, looking wearied, as if tired of their futile 
conversation. “ He could lie low for hours any¬ 
where, and then go on by night. Or he could beg a 
ride in a passing motor, or in a farmer’s cart. 
At any rate, he did get away, he did get beyond our 
ken, and if we find him, it will not be by simple 
search, but by some deduction or conclusion based 
on some bit of evidence. I know little of these 
things myself, but I supposed detectives worked 
from small clues.” 


A NAMELESS, HOMELESS WAIF 237 


“ We are supposed to,” Prentiss declared, 
frankly, “ but I must confess there are fewer 
clues in evidence in this case than in any I ever 
saw before.” 

“ There’s this,” and Brown held up the long 
cigarette-holder. 

“ Yes,” agreed Vincent, “ there’s that. Now, 
that’s just the sort of thing I mean. Can’t you 
experts gather anything from that? ” 

“ I gather that he had sharp teeth,” Brown said, 
smiling a little, “ for the amber mouthpiece is a good 
deal scratched.” 

“ He did have strong teeth,” Vincent remarked, 
“ and very white ones. But I can’t see how that will 
help you to find him. Perhaps, after all, you may 
have to give it up, and put it down among the un¬ 
solved mysteries of history.” 

“ Not yet,” Prentiss declared. “ I’m by no means 
ready to lie down on the job, and if Mr. Brown will 
run down to the city and try to trace the fancy 
cigarette doodaddle, I’ll try some few little 
manoeuvres I have in mind up here.” 

“ Try all you like, gentlemen,” Vincent directed 
them. “ Use every effort, call upon me for whatever 
money you need. I will refuse no sum in reason to 




238 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


bring about the discovery of my sister’s assassin. 
But, I must ask you to report to me only when you 
have some worthwhile news. This interview to-day 
was, of course, necessary, but until you have equally 
important information, continue your search by 
yourselves, or report to me through Mellish here.” 

The detectives, of course, agreed, and the inter¬ 
view was brought to a close. 

At dinner that night, Rosemary asked her uncle 
what the detectives had accomplished. 

“ Very little,” he returned. “ They have con¬ 
cluded Henry Johnson killed your aunt, which we 
were practically certain of all along. They have 
learned, they think, that Henry Johnson was an 
assumed name, which is an obvious conclusion. They 
have practically admitted that they have doubts of 
being able to find him, which is no surprise to me. 
The murderer in this, as in most cases, is far cleverer 
than the detectives, and can, of course, easily outwit 
them. A criminal who can plan and carry out such 
a scheme as this man has done is no ordinary evil¬ 
doer. He is a genius in crime, and such are not 
usually apprehended. Now, let us drop the sub¬ 
ject, Rosemary, for I have had all I can stand of 
it for one day.” 

The subject remained dropped between the two, 








A NAMELESS, HOMELESS WAIF 239 


for there were no new developments to bring the 
detectives for another report to Vincent. 

They were continuing their efforts to find John¬ 
son, they were hunting for new clues or evidence, 
but all their endeavors were futile. 

Even Brown’s assiduous hunt for the shop where 
the cigarette-holder had been bought was to no avail. 
Such holders he found, but could get hold of no 
dealer who had monogrammed that one. 

Days at Greatlarch followed one another in much 
the same routine as before the tragedy. The house¬ 
hold routine, that is. The two Mellishes and their 
under-servants admirably kept up the high standards 
that Miss Anne had instilled in the menage, but 
the family, as represented by Homer Vincent and 
Rosemary, was far from a happy one. 

Each day, it seemed to the girl, her uncle grew 
more and more reserved, more absorbed in his books 
and music. She did not resent this, in a way it was 
a relief not to have to entertain him, but Rosemary 
was very lonely and very sad. 

It was on one of their silent evenings, when Vin¬ 
cent mused over a book and Rosemary tried to inter¬ 
est herself in a bit of needlework, that he said: 

“ Child, have you any belief in spiritualism? ” 

His tone was gentler, more interested, than com- 


240 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


mon, and Rosemary hesitated before she answered. 
She didn’t want to express herself contrary to his 
own views, and yet the girl had never felt any faith 
in the supernatural. 

“Table-tipping or spooks?” she said, trying to 
turn it off lightly. 

“ Don’t be flippant. I mean this idea of Mrs. 
Lamont returning to the scene of her tragic death.” 

“ Oh, that. No, Uncle, I can’t say I do believe 
she does that.” 

“ And yet it may be. Why may not the souls of 
the dead return ? ” 

“ Oh, they may, but I’ve never seen any evidence 
of it, have you? ” 

“ What would you say if I said, Yes, I have? ” 

“ I’d say, Tell me all about it.” 

The subject was a distasteful one to Rosemary, 
but she would willingly have talked on any topic, 
so glad was she to have her uncle talk to her at all. 

“ Well, a queer thing happened last night,” he 
began. “ I was wakened out of a sound sleep by a 
sort of light in my room. A strange, hovering 
light, that seemed to sway and waver and at last 
shaped itself into the semblance of a human form. 
Rosemary, it w r as your Aunt Anne.” 

“ No!” 



A NAMELESS, HOMELESS WAIF 241 


“Yes, child, it surely was. I felt no fear; she 
waved a gentle hand as she came nearer to me. 
* Brother,’ she said, ‘ it is all right. Do not seek my 
slayer, I am happy in my new life.’ And then, Rose¬ 
mary, she seemed to vanish slowly, and as the 
phantom shape was nearly gone, I heard a few more 
fleeting words, that sounded like a promise to play 
the Wild Harp tonight.” 

“Tonight! Antan! Oh, Uncle Homer! You 
believe it was really her spirit? ” 

“If the harp plays tonight and I hear it—I shall 
have to believe,” he replied, in a solemn tone. 

And that night the Wild Harp did play. Rose¬ 
mary was awakened soon after midnight by the low, 
wailing strains. She wondered if her uncle heard 
it, too. 

She lay in. her bed listening to the weird music, 
and wondering if it could be possible her dead aunt 
was responsible for it. 

She could not believe it, nor could she believe it 
was the work of the spirit of Mrs. Lamont. 

But then, she asked herself, what is it? What 
can it be ? 

She rang a bedside bell which brought Francine 

to her. 

10 




242 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


“What is it, mademoiselle ?” asked the French 
girl. “ What is it that I can do for you? ” 

“ Listen, Francine, do you hear the Wild Harp? ” 

“ Oh, yes, ma’am. Is it not beautiful—so faint, 
so sweet! ” 

“ Who is playing it, Francine? ” 

Rosemary fully expected the girl would assert 
it to be a phantom that made the harmonies. But, to 
her surprise, Francine said, “Of a truth, I do not 
know,—but I think it is Mr. Mellish.” 

“ Nonsense! Go to bed! ’’ and Rosemary had to 
smile at the girl’s foolishness. 

But the next morning she referred to it before 
her uncle. 

“ Yes, Rosemary, I heard it,” he said, “ and I 
believe it was the spirit of your aunt who made the 
music. Do not you?” 

“ No, Uncle, to be truthful, I do not.” 

But Rosemary regretted her frankness, for 
Homer Vincent turned grim and moody and scarcely 
spoke again that day. 

But at last came the news of Bryce Collins’ 
arrival in New York, and Rosemary’s heart beat 
high with hope and joy. 

His letters had given no hints as to the results 










A NAMELESS, HOMELESS WAIF 243 


of his quest, but he had written that he had results, 
which he would detail on his return. 

Rosemary eagerly desired to accept this as an 
omen of favorable news, but her forebodings were 
not happy ones and she felt an undercurrent of de¬ 
spair that grew stronger as the time of his home¬ 
coming drew near. 

And when at last she saw him, when he came 
to Greatlarch, and, taking her in his arms, kissed her 
gently, she knew in her heart that his tidings were 
not happy ones. 

“ Tell it at once, Bryce,” Homer Vincent said, 
curtly. “ I know from your manner you bring no 
good news.” 

“ I do not,” Collins said, his face dark with 
sorrow and his eyes sad and somber. “Yes, I will 
tell you at once, but do not hurry me, Mr. Vincent. 
I will tell you as it happened to me.” 

“ You found the asylum? ” 

“ Yes, with no trouble at all. But it was not at 
the address you gave me.” 

“ Ah, they have moved? ” 

“ Perhaps so; but they told me they had never 
been at the other address. However, I found them. 
They have full and complete records,—they will- 



244 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


ingly let me study them. The present head of the 
institution is not, of course, the one who was there 
when Rosemary was left there. Nor is he the im¬ 
mediate successor. They have had several in his 
place, as the years went by.” 

“ You found the entry of Rosemary’s admission 
to the asylum ? ” 

“ Yes, I did. And I learned,—this is the strange 
part,—that she was placed there by your brother 
Carl.” 

“Before his marriage?” Homer Vincent fairly 
blurted out the words. 

“ Yes, two years before.” 

“ Then that means—” 

“ There is no use blinking the facts. It means 
that Rosemary is the child of your brother Carl, 
but was not born in wedlock.” 

“ An illegitimate daughter of my brother—then 
a Vincent after all.” 

“ No, a nameless, homeless waif,” Rosemary 
moaned, and as she swayed from her chair, Collins 
ran to catch her fainting form and held her in 
his arms. 

“ I’m all right,” she said, struggling to preserve 
her self-control; “only it seems this last blow is 


A NAMELESS, HOMELESS WAIF 245 


more than I can bear. Uncle Homer, I will leave 
your house tomorrow. You shall not be burdened 
with the disgrace of a nameless child,—a child 
of shame!” 

“ Who was her mother ? ” Vincent asked. 

“ It is not known,” Collins replied. “ The rec¬ 
ords so far back are imperfect. And I could find 
no one who remembered the circumstance. All the 
attendants are changed since that time. It was by 
the merest chance I came across the book that con¬ 
tained the entry of her admission. There was no 
mistake about that. She was left there by Carl 
Vincent, an American citizen travelling for pleasure. 
Her birth-date was given and her name stated as 
Rosemary Vincent.” 

“ And two years later, my brother and his wife 
adopted this child,—the daughter of my brother! ” 

“ Three years later. After he had been married 
a year.” 

“ I cannot stand it,” Rosemary cried, and with¬ 
out another word, she fled from the room. 

“ There is no doubt about this? ” Vincent asked. 

“ Not the slightest,” replied Collins, hopelessly. 

“ What is to be done? ” 

“ I do not know.” 




CHAPTER XIII 


A VINCENT AFTER ALL 

After the news brought home from France by 
Bryce Collins and after a day’s reflection on the 
matter, Homer Vincent called Rosemary to him 
in his Tower room. 

The girl gave him a curious glance. Her own 
attitude in the matter had changed. She was still 
downcast and despairing because of her illegitimate 
birth and her nameless condition. But she had most 
loving memories of her father, and it was a deep 
consolation to know he was really her father even 
though she had no acknowledged mother. 

Rosemary’s life had been a sheltered one. Dur¬ 
ing her first years with her adopted mother, during 
the succeeding term of years with her father, and, 
later, with the Vincents at Greatlarch, the girl had 
been kept carefully from companions save such as 
her elders deemed wise for her. 

She had never attended public schools, never 
mixed with uneducated or unrefined people, and 
really knew little of the gossip or scandals of society. 

246 



A VINCENT AFTER ALL 


247 


Anne Vincent had never talked with her of 
immoral conditions or events, and Rosemary, while 
blankly wondering just how bad it was to be illegiti¬ 
mate, was yet gladdened at heart by the realization 
that at any rate she was a Vincent. 

But she was destined to a rude awakening when 
Homer Vincent told her in a few words how hopeless 
and irremediable was her fate. 

He was not unkind in his manner, he was rather 
pitying and sympathetic. But he explained that she 
could never hope to marry, that to transmit such a 
stigma to children would be out of the question, and, 
moreover, no man, knowing the truth, would be will¬ 
ing to marry her. 

“ Bryce w r ould,” she said, her red lips quivering 
with emotion, but her little head held high, in a 
sort of bravado. 

“ No, he would not. You’ll see. He said he 
w r ould when he thought you were adopted by my 
brother, and born of respectable though humble 
parents. That’s what he went to France to see 
about, and thereby learned the whole unpleasant 
truth. No, Rosemary, neither Bryce Collins nor any 
other self-respecting young man will marry a girl 
who was born out of wedlock.” 





248 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


Rosemary’s despair returned. Her long dark 
lashes drooped over her sad eyes and her whole 
figure relaxed into an attitude of utter dejection. 

“ What can I do? ” she murmured, her voice 
tragically sad. 

“ You will be cared for,” Vincent replied. But 
he sighed deeply and looked at the girl as if she 
were indeed an unwelcome responsibility. 

“ You see,” he continued, “ now that I am led 
to believe that you are the child of my brother, I 
cannot turn you away. When I thought you merely 
his adopted child and the offspring of unknown 
parents, I had no real family interest in your welfare. 
But if you are my brother’s child, you are a Vin¬ 
cent, even though not a legitimate member of 
the family. 

“ And so, I propose to keep you here with me,— 
at least so long as I find you tractable and amenable 
to my wdshes. I think you will not expect to hold 
your position as a daughter of the house, but neither 
shall I allow you to be slighted or scorned in any 
way. If you have good common sense, Rosemary, 
you will accept the anomalous position that is now 
yours and you will be thankful that you have a home 
and a protector here.” 


A VINCENT AFTER ALL 


249 


“ Oh, I do! Oh, Uncle Homer, how good you 
are to me. I can never thank you—” 

“ There, there, no histrionics, if you please. You 
can easily thank me, by the mere observance of my 
wishes. You know those already,—you know, that 
though I may be eccentric, my odd ways are not 
really very dreadful. You know all I want is a 
quiet, peaceful home, and if you devote your life,— 
as you probably will prefer to do,—to some such 
pursuit as study or philanthropic effort, you will 
make no disturbance in the household and you will 
have ample time to look after such matters as tend 
toward my peculiar desires and exactions.” 

Rosemary looked thoughtful. She fully realized 
her position, fully appreciated her uncle’s kindness 
and generosity, but she was young and of a pleasure- 
loving, vivid temperament. She could not foresee 
happiness in this humdrum existence he proposed. 
It was all very well for Antan, who was of a quiet, 
indolent nature. 

But for Rosemary to be at home day in and day 
out, occupied in household duties or philanthropic 
pursuits,—whatever they were,—did not sound 
appealing. 

In fact, the previous plan, of living by herself, 
seemed more attractive. 




250 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


“ How much money have I? ” she asked, almost 
abruptly. 

Vincent looked at her, and shook his head. 

“ None at all, Rosemary,” he said, “ but what I 
give you. Your father left no will, and, of course, as 
an illegitimate child you have no inheritance claim. 
Your Aunt Anne’s ruby, which would have been a 
small fortune in itself, has been stolen, so what I 
choose to give you constitutes your sole source of 
income. But I shall not be mean or small in this 
matter, if you agree to my plans. If, however, you 
are thinking of asserting your independence, I may 
as well tell you at once, that I shall not contribute 
to your support except here at Greatlarch. You must 

admit, my dear, that you are a little inconsistent. 

* 

Last week you were in tears at the thought of leav¬ 
ing this place, now, when I offer you a home here, 
you are contemplating going off by yourself.” 

“ How do you know I am ? ” 

“ I knew by your expression of rebellious dis¬ 
content at the sort of life you must accept if you 
remain here. I knew by your sudden inquiry about 
finances. I know you would prefer independence 
and a home by yourself to a home with me under 
the restrictions that I must make. But you are not 



A VINCENT AFTER ALL 


251 


in a position to dictate. You may choose,—but I 
must tell you, Rosemary, you will make a great 
mistake if you attempt to go out into the world, 
nameless and penniless.” 

Vincent spoke very gravely, and Rosemary’s 
mutinous red lips curved downward into an expres¬ 
sion of surrender. 

“ Don’t think I’m ungrateful, Uncle Homer,” 
she said, slowly. “ But you must remember I’m 
crushed under this sudden blow. You must remem¬ 
ber that I’ve lost parents, home, fortune, reputation, 
everything in the world, at one blow,—and I must 
think things over before I can see my way clear. 
What is it Kipling says: 

‘“If you can see the things you gave your life 
to broken, 

Yet stoop and build them up with worn-out 
I tools—’ ” 

“ That’s all very well, Rosemary, for hifalutin 
ethical poppycock. But, I’ll tell you, my girl, that if 
you know what’s good for yourself, you’ll gladly 
accept a home here, under the protection of my 
name, rather than face any sort of career out in the 
cold, hard world. You’ve no idea, Rosemary, what 


252 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


slights, what scorn, you would receive! Good 
heavens, child, I don’t believe you realize at all what 
a terrible misfortune has come to you! ” 

“Yes, I do, Uncle,—indeed I do. But some¬ 
times I feel I am so hopeless, so dishonored, it might 
be better to strive to live a new life—” 

“ Fine talk! That’s what all the younger genera¬ 
tion harp on nowadays. Live a new life—live your 
own life—well, Rosemary, do what you choose. But 
if you choose to go out from under my roof, it is 
on the understanding that I will never take you back 
again. Think well before you throw away a home 
like this! ” 

Vincent glanced round the beautiful room and 
out into the great hall, and Rosemary’s eyes followed. 

Her deep love for the place welled up in her 
heart, and with an uncontrollable sob, she caught 
her uncle’s hand in hers, and cried: 

“ Oh, you are right! I never could be happy 
awav from here—” 

m/ 

“Not with the conditions you have to face,” he 
returned, gravely. “ Let us consider it settled then, 
and you may take your place as head of the house¬ 
hold, in so far as ordering meals and presiding at 
table is concerned. What you do not know, Melly 


A VINCENT AFTER ALL 


253 


will show you, and I myself will instruct you in some 
of the matters your dear aunt used to look after.” 

Rosemary went away from her uncle with a heart 
full of conflicting thoughts. She knew her best 
plan, as he had said, was to stay at Greatlarch under 
the conditions he imposed. She knew the world 
would be hard on her, would look down upon her, 
and as a member of her uncle’s household she would 
at least run no chance of scornfully pointed fingers. 

But Rosemary’s whole nature rebelled at the re¬ 
strictions she would be under, and the vision of her 
future seemed far from bright. 

It is said stone walls do not a prison make, but 
as the girl saw it, they would come very near 
doing so. 

Yet the alternative was no more desirable. What 
could she do, alone in an inhospitable world, without 
money, name, or friends? 

And as to marrying Bryce Collins, Rosemary 
firmly put aside all thought of it. Even if he asked 
her to do so, she would not take advantage of his 
offer, she would not go to him a nameless bride. 

There was no way open, the girl concluded, but 
to stay on at Greatlarch, and try to do exactly as her 
uncle wished her to. 



254 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


She would have a home,—a beautiful home that 
she loved,—and she would try to adjust herself to 
the new conditions and get along without young 
companionship or society. 

She would forget Bryce Collins, forget Lulie 
and the other girls, and take up what her uncle called 
philanthropic work. 

She was a bit hazy as to what this meant,— 
visiting the poor and old, she supposed,—or making 
flannel petticoats for orphan babies. 

She wondered who had made flannel petticoats 
for her when she was an orphan baby, as she must 
have been the first three years of her life. 

Those first three years! It seemed to her some¬ 
times that she could dimly recall scenes that must 
have been asylum scenes. She seemed to see rows 
of cots and numberless babies, but she couldn’t be 
sure that this was not mere imagination and 
not memory. 

Well, it didn’t matter. She had been an orphan 
baby, and now she was something still worse, an 
orphan girl and an illegitimate child. 

But when Bryce Collins came that evening, he 
cheered her by his very presence. He was so strong 
and masterful, so determinedly hopeful, so eagerly 






A VINCENT AFTER ALL 


255 





' 

■ 

■ 


i 


anxious to do something, anything, to bring about 
new developments that might point to brighter days. 

Also, he was more than ever resolved to solve 
the mystery of Miss Anne’s death. 

“ Who knows? ” he said, “ that may have some 
bearing on your parentage, Rosemary.” 

“ As how? ” asked Homer Vincent, interestedly. 

“ I can’t imagine,” Collins admitted, “ but there 
seems no motive—” 

“ No motive, when the murderer took away a 
hundred thousand dollar ruby! ” 

“ But did he take it ? May not Miss Anne have 
hidden it elsewhere? I can’t seem to see a burglar 
taking that one stone and leaving the other jewels.” 

“ But the ruby is a fortune in itself. He needed 
nothing more to make him independent for life.” 

“ I know,—but what can he do with it? Those 
enormous stones are famous. Every jeweler in the 
country,—in the world, knows of that ruby. He 
would be spotted the moment he offered it for sale.” 

“ I suppose so,” Vincent said; “ and yet, I’ve 
heard those people have what they call ‘ fences ’ who 
dispose of stolen jewels in some manner. And, any¬ 
way, the man must have taken it, for I’ve looked 
everywhere among my sister’s belongings and all 







256 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


through her rooms and there is no possible hiding- 
place where the stone can be. No, Bryce, that Henry 
Johnson stole the jewel and killed my sister. As I 
see it, Anne woke up and he killed her lest she scream 
and alarm the household. Now, the thing is to 
find him.” 

“That’s exactly it,” assented Collins, “and I’m 
going to do it. You said, Mr. Vincent, that you 
would spend any amount of money to find the 
murderer, which, of course, means to find Henry 
Johnson. Now, I heard on board ship, coming 
home, of a wonderful detective,—Stone, his name is, 
who can, without doubt, solve this mystery. Murder 
cases are his special forte, and though I understand 
he is expensive, yet I know you said—” 

“ I did say so, at first, Bryce, but I’ve already 
spent a lot on detectives. And what have they done ? 
What have Brewster and Brown done? Nothing. 
What has Prentiss done? Nothing. And quite 
aside from the money I’ve paid and still have 
to pay them, I am tired of having these investi¬ 
gators around my house. They examine the rooms 
over and over again. But they learn nothing from 
them. They quiz my servants over and over again. 
But they deduce nothing from their stories. The 



A VINCENT AFTER ALL 


257 


man Johnson has disappeared and the detectives 
are not able to find him. That's the case in a nut¬ 
shell. Now why should I spend any more money, 
or be put to any further inconvenience when there is 
no probability that a new man would or could do 
any more than the others have done?” 

“ But this Stone is a wizard,—why, he—” 

“ I know that wizard type. They come in and 
look around, and say the murder was done by a man 
five feet nine inches high, who wore a number seven 
hat and smoked a Havana Perfecto cigar. And then 
they waste days in futile attempts to find that man,— 
and never find him. No, I have decided not to spend 
any more on the case, and—I have a reason—a 
secret reason why I prefer not to delve further into 
the mystery.” 

“ I know what that reason is,” Rosemary cried. 
“ Bryce, Uncle Homer has gone over to the spiritual¬ 
ists ! He has messages from Aunt Anne and I’ve no 
doubt his secret reason is connected with—” 

“You’re quite right, Rosemary,” Vincent spoke 
very seriously, “ my reason is that my sister’s spirit 
has communicated with me, and she has asked me 
to refrain from further investigations.” 

“ Did she tell you who killed her? ” Collins asked, 
17 



258 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


not showing his true feelings in regard to these 
supernatural communications. 

“ No,—not exactly, but she said the murderer 
would never be caught, and for my own peace of 
mind and—for Rosemary’s, it would be better to 
let the matter rest.” 

“ And you fancy that it may be some of Rose¬ 
mary’s relatives—on her mother’s side—” 

“ Don’t put it into words, Collins. You know 
yourself it may be that the Johnson person was some 
such relative,—and it may be as well never to 
find him—” 

“ Rubbish! I don’t believe for a minute any¬ 
thing of that sort, and I refuse to listen to such 
absurd theories. Now, look here, Mr. Vincent, 
here’s my platform. I propose to marry Rosemary 
in any case. She is my affianced wife—” 

“ No, Bryce,” and Rosemary’s tone was as de¬ 
cided as his own, “ no, I will never consent to marry 
you, a nameless, shameful, illegitimate girl! I would 
not,—could not be happy, knowing that I brought 
you only ignominy and disgrace. I will never marry 
you or any one. The fact that my father was a 
Vincent does not make me one, since I was not born 
in wedlock. I am an unhappy girl,—but I am for- 


A VINCENT AFTER ALL 


259 


tunate in having Uncle Homer,—for I shall always 
call him that,—give me a home. I will continue to 
live here with him and you must not think it strange 
if I ask you not to come to see me any more. I 
am going to try to forget you and all my young 
friends—” 

“ Now, Rosemary, let up on that rigmarole. I am 
going to take hold of this matter and fight it to a 
finish. If Mr. Vincent won’t employ this Stone, I 
will do so myself. I have some of my money left, 
and if it isn’t enough, I’ll get busy and earn more. 
I have one or two ideas that I haven’t divulged yet, 
and if Stone takes any interest in them, they may be 
of use to him.” 

“ I don’t think, Bryce, that you ought to keep 
from me any knowledge or ideas that you may have 
discovered.” 

“ Well, Mr. Vincent, they’re hardly definite 
enough to be called ideas,—they’re merely vague im¬ 
pressions—for instance, here’s one. The detectives 
say that Johnson could have locked that bedroom 
door behind him by the use of a little instrument that 
burglars use, which can turn a key from the other 
side of the lock. Now, I’ve looked up that matter, 
and while there is such an implement known, it is 


260 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


very hard to come by, and only found in the kit of 
the most expert and experienced burglars. This man 
Johnson, as I make it out, wasn’t a burglar. He was 
merely a business man, here on a business errand. 
If his cupidity was aroused by the sight of Miss 
Anne’s great ruby, is it likely that he would chance 
to have in his pocket that rare and peculiar tool that 
would lock the door after he had committed the 
crime? Also, why did he want to lock the door? 
He made his escape at once. He knew breakfast 
wouldn’t be until eight o’clock, and he committed the 
murder, they say, at seven or thereabouts. Why 
waste time locking a door when every minute was 
precious in making an escape ? And how happen to 
have the implement needed, when, so far as we can 
gather, he had no other burglar’s tools? ” 

“ He may have had a whole kit, and taken it 
away with him.” 

“ But when he arrived, Mellish says, he had only 
the one bag which, as we now know, contained his 
night things and a change of underclothing.” 

“ I’m not arguing the case, Bryce, nor am I 

« 

reconstructing the crime, as they call it, or guessing 
how it may have been done. To me the case is 
simply this. Johnson killed my sister, stole her 


A VINCENT AFTER ALL 


261 


jewel, and made his escape. How he did it, I do 
not know. But as I truly believe it is the wish of 
my dead sister that I should make no further effort 
to discover any more about it, I propose to cease my 
investigations. If you persist in calling in further 
detective service, it will be at your own expense 
and on your own responsibility, and, I may add, 
greatly against my wishes and, in fact, under my 
disapproval.” 

“ Sorry, Mr. Vincent, but I’m going to employ 
this Stone, if I can get him. And not only regarding 
the murder. I can’t help a certain feeling, maybe a 
forlorn hope, that he may help me in the search for 
Rosemary’s mother. I admit I want to know, if 
possible, who her mother was. Not, understand, 
for my own sake alone,—but for her sake. How¬ 
ever, I want it understood that our sake is one and 
the same henceforth. I know Rosemary says she 
will not marry me, but if she doesn’t it will not be 
for lack of importunity and insistence on my part. 
But that is a future consideration. First, I’m going 
to pursue my own investigations as I see fit, and 
then I will consult with you as to Rosemary’s future. 
I take it you do not,—you cannot forbid me to look 
into this mystery further?” 


262 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


“ I can't forbid you, Bryce, but I can and do 
most earnestly request you to leave it alone. You 
may laugh if you will at spiritual revelations, but 
older and wiser minds than yours do not laugh at 
them. If I have been persuaded that I have had 
visitations from the spirit of my dear sister, it is no 
more incredible than that great and good men have 
also been so convinced. I ask of you, I beg of you, 
not to try further to elucidate a mystery, the victim 
of which has requested that it be forgotten. 

“ And, quite aside from that, remember I am 
an older man than you, and I can see the futility of 
renewed search. Indeed, I am convinced that, as a 
layman, I can see better than a detective the utter 
impossibility of finding a man as clever and deter¬ 
mined as Johnson must necessarily be. Doubtless 
he has so changed his appearance and demeanor by 
this time that no one could recognize him; in addi¬ 
tion to which he has in all probability fled to the 
very ends of the earth. These obvious conclusions 
present themselves to the clear-seeing mind of a lay¬ 
man, while the detective instinct is roused by the 
mystery and by the call of the chase. If you look 
at it calmly, you must agree that I am right.” 

“ It may be, Mr. Vincent, and I understand that 


A VINCENT AFTER ALL 


263 


is the way it looks to you. But I am on the other 
side, I admit. To me, there seem to be other avenues 
to explore,—other clues to follow up.” 

“ What clues, for instance? ” 

“ Few, if any, definite clues, I admit; but hints, 
theories, possibilities,—oh, I am sure such a man 
as Fleming Stone would have suggestions to make 
and ways to try out.” 

“ Uncle Homer,” said Rosemary, suddenly, 
“ what was that shiny thing you were hiding in 
the secret panel as I looked in the window at you 
that night? ” 

“Good heavens, child, what do you mean? I 
wasn’t hiding anything! ” 

“Well, what were you putting in there, then? 
It shone and glittered, and it wasn’t those two imi¬ 
tation rubies,—for it wasn’t red—it was bright 
like gold.” 

“ Like gold ? I don’t know what it could have 
been—for I have nothing made of gold there. You 
may come into my room, if you like, and look over 
all the contents of that hiding-place. There is noth¬ 
ing there but some valuable papers, including all the 
letters and papers concerning my brother Carl. Come 


264 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


along, both of you, and I will show you the way to 
open it for yourselves.” 

The three went to Vincent’s Tower room, and 
he showed them both exactly how to manipulate the 
tiny knob, hidden in the carved design, that opened 
the panel. 

The hiding-place thus revealed was quite large, 
and held many bundles of papers. These Vincent 
touched as he named them. 

“ I’m glad this subject came up,” he said, “ for 
it is better some one should know the secret of this 
panel. My sister knew, and now, it is well you 
young people should know, for if anything happens 
to me, you will find all my effects here. This is my 
will,—as you see, I have left the bulk of my property 
to Rosemary. I have, of course, left goodly be¬ 
quests to the two Mellishes, who have served me 
long and faithfully. Also, to Hoskins and a few 
other servants. And some trifles to a few friends. 
The residuary is for Rosemary, who, though not 
legally a Vincent, is the child of my dear brother,— 
and,—I will refer to this matter for what I trust 
may be the last time,—I daresay, if we knew all the 
circumstances we might judge my brother more 
leniently than the world would if the matter be- 


A VINCENT AFTER ALL 


265 


came known. So, if Rosemary does as I wish her 
to, and lives here quietly with me, she will even¬ 
tually have a fortune of her own.” 

“What’s that key, Uncle?” Rosemary asked, 
more interested just then in the contents of the 
opened recess than in her future financial prospects. 

“ That’s the key of the wine cellar, child,” and 
her uncle smiled. “ In these days, it is wiser to 
keep such things locked up, for though Mellish is 
impeccable some of the newer servants may not 
be. Why, Rosemary, this is doubtless what you 
saw glistening that night. I perhaps moved it as 
I hunted for a paper,—I don’t remember precisely.” 

“Yes, that was it. It shone like brass and 
that has a brass tag.” 

“ Yes, and now run away, you two. I am 
/ very tired tonight. Collins, think twice before you 
run counter to my expressed desires. I do not like 
to have my advice utterly ignored.” 


CHAPTER XIV 


FLEMING STONE ON THE CASE 

Bryce Collins did think twice before he made 
up his mind to run counter to Homer Vincent’s 
advice, but as his second thoughts coincided with 
his first ones, he carried out his plan of employing 
the celebrated detective, Fleming Stone, to investi¬ 
gate the mystery of the death of Anne Vincent, and * 
to endeavor to recover the stolen ruby. 

On receiving word from Stone that he would 
come to Hilldale, Collins told Vincent of his ex¬ 
pected arrival. 

“ Very well,” Vincent returned, “ I have no 
real objection, of course, since you are willing to 
assume the expenses of the investigation. As I 
told you, I have spent all I care to on the work, 
and, moreover, I am convinced that my dear sister 
has advised me to do nothing further.” 

Collins wondered at this, to him, utter foolish¬ 
ness, but he remembered that, as Vincent had told 
him, greater minds than his own had gone over to 
spiritualism, and there was no reason why Homer 
Vincent should not do so. 


2G6 


FLEMING STONE ON THE CASE 267 


Now and then, Vincent would tell Rosemary or 
Bryce Collins that his sister had told him she would 
play on the Wild Harp, and always at the appointed 
hour they could hear,—or imagined they heard, faint 
strains from the direction of the Temple. 

Collins pooh-poohed at this, but he was obliged 
to admit that he did hear the sounds. Mrs. Mellish, 
a firm believer in the supernatural, often heard 
them, whether others did or not, but the old butler 
only shook his head with a patronizing grin, that 
seemed to pity such foolishness. 

Francine, who was very quick of hearing, de¬ 
clared the sounds came frequently. 

“ And I can tell,” she volunteered, “ when it 
is that my adored Miss Anne touches the strings, 
and when it is the music made by the dead Madame 
Lamont.” 

And it was into this moil of inexplicable cir¬ 
cumstances, into this jumble of supernaturalism and 
crime, into this mystery of robbery and murder, 
that Fleming Stone was expected to throw him¬ 
self and, by the skill of his experienced wisdom 
and judgment, solve the mystery and expose 
the criminal. 

The police had become apathetic in the matter. 


268 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


One and all they agreed that nothing could be done 
until the missing man, Henry Johnson, was found. 
And as there was not the slightest trace of him, as 

t 

there was positively no clue or bit of evidence to 
show which way to search, the police contented 
themselves with vague promises and hints of dis¬ 
coveries that they could not yet make public. 

They had done their best. They had worked 
on numerous theories, had gone off on several wild- 
goose chases, had quizzed many people, but no 
definite conclusions were forthcoming, except that 
Henry Johnson was the criminal and Henry John¬ 
son could not be found. 

The few things he had left behind him were 
now at Police Headquarters; the room that had 
been assigned to him at Greatlarch had been cleaned 
and put in order, as also had Miss Anne’s room. 

So, Homer Vincent advised Collins, there was 
no occasion, as he could see, for the new detective 
to be a guest at his house. Indeed, he must refuse 
to have Stone quartered there, as he felt sure he 
could not stand such an intrusion on his home 
routine. 

“ But he may consider himself free to come 
and go as he chooses,” Vincent conceded; “he may 









FLEMING STONE ON THE CASE 269 


make all the investigations he desires, he may ques¬ 
tion my servants or myself, or Rosemary, all he 
wants to. But, I beg of you, Bryce, do make him 
hurry up the thing. Don’t have him dawdling here 
for weeks, accomplishing nothing. It’s six weeks 
and more now, since my sister’s death,—nothing 
has been done,—nothing will be done to solve the 
mystery. But I shall put no obstacle in the way 
of any one’s effort, only, do make the man work 
as expeditiously as possible.” 

Collins understood the distaste of Homer Vin¬ 
cent for the thought of the dreary repetitions of 
question and answer that they all knew by rote, 
but which Fleming Stone must ask and learn 
for himself. 

“ I appreciate your feelings, Mr. Vincent,” Bryce 
assured him, “ and I will do all I can to facilitate 
Stone’s work and to save you all unnecessary par¬ 
ticipation in the whole business. If you wish, I’ll 
take him over the house, take him to the servants 
and all that. You need only answer the questions 
he wishes to put directly to you.” 

“ Good for you, Bryce. Save me all the annoy¬ 
ance you can. Rosemary will help you, and the 
two Mellishes. Of course, he’ll want to poke about 


270 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


all over the house. Let him do so, but keep him 
away from me, whenever you can.” 

Bryce Collins agreed, and relieved that Vincent 
was even fairly affable about it, he went off to the 
station to meet the detective. 

It was nearing the Christmas holidays now, 
and though Vincent had given no hint of his recog¬ 
nition of that fact, yet Collins knew that he would 
be grateful if Stone could make his investigations 
and announce either success or failure before the 
Christmastide should arrive. 

Not that there would be any celebration at 
Greatlarch this year, but Vincent’s nature leaned 
toward religious observances, and Collins knew the 
season would be a sacred one to him. 

Rosemary took little interest in the advent of 
Fleming Stone. She had no hope that any one 
would ever find Johnson now. She felt that as 
six weeks had elapsed, no further search could 
result in a discovery of the missing man. And she 
was so disheartened at her own sad fate that, while 
she mourned her aunt and missed her sorely, yet the 
avenging of her tragic death meant less to the girl 
than the tragedy of her own life. 

Night after night she cried herself to sleep, now 


FLEMING STONE ON THE CASE 271 

v 

resolving she would never marry, and then almost 
yielding to the temptation of consenting to Bryce’s 
plea that they be married at once. 

But she knew Bryce’s mother, and she was not 
brave enough to face the angry scorn of that 
haughty and aristocratic dame. 

Mrs. Collins had learned of Rosemary’s re¬ 
fusal to marry her son, and thoroughly approved 
of the girl’s decision. But should Rosemary change 
her mind, Mrs. Collins was quite ready to put up 
a fight. 

Bryce Collins was of a sanguine, hopeful nature. 
His strong will and his unflinching determination 
were supplemented by a sublime optimism that 
never gave way until forced to do so by absolutely 
unconquerable circumstances. 

And, quite aside from his firm belief in Stone’s 
ability to find the murderer, he also was sure that 
the detective could be of help in discovering the 
mother of Rosemary. And he had a blind faith in 
that mother. 

For Rosemary’s sake even more than his own, 
he wanted to prove her mother of gentle birth,— 
perhaps a young and innocent girl led into error 
because of ignorance or too blind confidence in her 




272 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


lover. Perhaps she had been deceived by Carl Vin¬ 
cent—tricked by a false marriage, or,—Bryce 
couldn’t always formulate his hopes, but at any 
rate he meant to have Stone look up the matter 
thoroughly. It might necessitate another trip to 
France, but this thought was no impediment to 
Collins’ flights of fancy. 

He was musing on these things when the train 
came to a stop at the station and a tall, good-look¬ 
ing man stepped off, who was, Collins felt sure, 
the detective. 

He was accompanied by a red-headed, eager¬ 
faced boy, whose alert blue eyes darted compre- 
hendingly about. 

“ That’s our man, F. S.,” the boy said, “ that’s 
Mr. Collins—aren’t you? ” 

“ Yes,” Collins said, smiling at the lad, whose 
cap sat saucily aslant on his thick red hair, but 
who pulled it quickly off as the two men greeted 
one another, and Fleming Stone added, “ and this 
is my young assistant, McGuire.” 

“ How’re you, Mr. Collins?” the boy re¬ 
sponded, “and to people I like I’m Fibsy. I 
like you.” 











FLEMING STONE ON THE CASE 273 


“ Thank you, Fibsy,” Bryce smiled at him. 
“ I hope I shall like you.” 

“ You bet you will. Where do we go from 
here?” 

Bryce Collins conducted them to the village inn, 
which was so near by that they walked the short 
distance. 

He had already engaged rooms for them, and 
very soon they were in a private sitting-room and 
Collins was earnestly telling Stone the principal 
facts of the case. 

“ I know a good deal from the newspaper 
accounts,” the detective said; “ what I want to learn 

is the knowledge they seemed so carefully to with- 

% 

hold. Who was this Johnson man? Why did they 
never pick him up again ? Where is he now ? ” 

“ That’s just the point of the whole thing, Mr. 
Stone. Get Johnson,—and you’ve done it all. He’s 
the murderer beyond all doubt—” 

“ How did he get in and out of the locked room ?” 
“ That’s the question. But get Johnson and he 
can answer that himself.” 

“ Of course. Perfectly true. Now, to get a 
missing man, we have to trace him. Did he leave 

any indicative clues? ” 

18 


274 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


“ That he did not! He went like a wraith—he 
dissolved like a mist—no one saw him go, no one has 
seen him since. He made no tracks, he left no clues. ,, 

“ Oh, come, now, I’ll bet he left clues. Only, 
those who saw them failed to recognize them 
as such.” 

“ That’s what I think, Mr. Stone,” Collins spoke 
eagerly. “ I believe that’s right.” 

“ But of course there are no signs of those clues 
now,” Fibsy said, with a deep sigh. “ Six weeks 
must have obliterated all the footprints and finger¬ 
prints there were in the first place.” 

“ I don’t think anybody thought of fingerprints,” 
Collins said, looking at Fibsy with dawning respect. 
He had thought him merely Stone’s clerical assist¬ 
ant, or perhaps valet, and was amazed at the boy’s 
intelligent gaze and perspicacious remark. 

“ Not much chance for ’em, anyway,” Fibsy 
went on. “No use getting Johnson’s fingerprints, 
if you can’t get the mitt that made ’em! No use in 
getting the prints of the family and friends,—or 
even the servants. No s’picion of the butler persona¬ 
ls there? ” 

“ Good gracious, no,” and Collins smiled at the 
bare thought of suspecting Mellish. 



FLEMING STONE ON THE CASE 275 


“No offence to His Nibs,” Fibsy offered, “ but 
you know, quite frequently sometimes it is Friend 
Butler.” 

“ Hush up, Fibs,” Stone admonished. “ Now, 
Mr. Collins, I have, I think, all the information you 
can give me. The rest I must get for myself. Can I 
go to the house this afternoon? After Fve had 
some luncheon here? ” 

“ Yes, surely. You’ll find Mr. Vincent a re¬ 
served and perhaps curt man, but you can depend 
absolutely on his sense of justice and his willingness 
to have you investigate his premises. He prefers to 
be left out of it all himself, as much as possible. 
But I assure you that he is ready to do his part, 
and usually, his bark is worse than his bite.” 

“ Gruff old codger? ” asked Fibsy. 

“ Not a bit of it! ” and Collins smiled. “ A most 
polished gentleman. But bored by people and weary 
of the futile efforts of detectives.” 

“ We’re accustomed to that type,” the boy said, 
winking at Stone; “they come off their perch, 
though, when F. Stone really gets busy. Will this 
guy mind my goin’ along? ” 

“ I think not,—but I assume you’d go just the 
same if he did.” 




276 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


“ Sure I would. F. Stone can’t do a thing with¬ 
out his little Fibsy by his side. He’s that dependent 
on me, you wouldn’t believe! ” 

“ Why the cheerful nickname? ” Collins couldn’t 
help liking the boy. 

“ That’s just it! ’Cause I’m such a cheerful liar. 
Why, it’s no more trouble for me to tell a whopper 
than for F. Stone to tell the gospel truth! ” 

“There now, McGuire, keep quiet. You’re too 
chatty this morning.” 

“ Gotta stop! ” and the lad made a wry face. 
“ When he calls me McGuire, he means business. 
No more funny chatter from this baby. All right,— 
here’s where I shut up.” And from then on, the 
boy made no remark, but his sharp eyes showed 
perception and comprehension and his wise little 
head nodded now and then, as Collins discussed the 
matter somewhat further with Fleming Stone. 

That afternoon the pair of detectives went to 
Greatlarch. 

Collins was there before them and introduced 
them to Homer Vincent and Rosemary. 

Fibsy was very quiet, acknowledging his pres¬ 
entation by a respectful nod of his red head, but 




FLEMING STONE ON THE CASE 277 


Fleming Stone was a little more self-assertive than 
was usual for him. 

Fibsy looked at his chief in silent wonder as 
Stone shook hands a little effusively with Homer 
Vincent, and said, “How do you do, my dear?” 

I to Rosemary. 

It was quite foreign to Stone’s custom to be so 
familiar, and when he followed it up by settling 
himself, unasked, in an easy chair, Fibsy’s self- 
addressed “ Gee! ” was almost audible. 

“ Wonderful house, Mr. Vincent,” was Stone’s 

. I 

appreciative comment, as he gazed around him. 

They were in the reception room, which was also 
a Tower room, opposite the room that Vincent used 
for his own. 

“ Yes,” the host replied, a bit curtly, and waited 
for further speech from his guest. 

Suddenly Stone’s manner changed. 

“ I am here, Mr. Vincent,” he said, “ to discover, 
if I can, who killed your sister. But I am told by 
Mr. Collins, that you do not wish to pursue this 
inquiry further, because of supernatural revelations 
you have had. Is this true? ” 

“ Quite true, Mr. Stone.” Vincent spoke cour¬ 
teously but wearily, as if wishing to be done with 






278 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


the interview. “ I daresay you do not believe in 
the occult—” 

“ Pardon me, do you consider the occult and 
the supernatural synonymous terms? ” 

“ I don’t care to go into the technical definitions 
of those terms,” Vincent returned; “ my belief in the 
revelations I have received from the spirit of my 
dead sister is not based on study or research into 
these questions. It is solely based on the evidence of 
my own senses and an inner conviction that my 
senses in no way deceived me.” 

“ I am interested,” Stone said; “ how were these 
messages received, may I ask? Through the assist¬ 
ance of a Ouija Board or a human medium? ” 

“ Neither, sir. The messages were spoken to me 
by my sister’s voice in the dead of night—” 

“ You’re sure you were awake? ” 

“ As wide awake as I am this minute. She spoke 
low but clearly to me, and begged me, for her sake, 
to desist from these futile delvings into what must 
ever remain a mystery. Now, Mr. Stone, I am not 
asking you to desist nor am I desirous of hindering 
your search,—only I do want you to understand my 
attitude, and be good enough to leave me out as a 
factor of your plans.” 


' 

FLEMING STONE ON THE CASE 279 

“ I will do so, Mr. Vincent, as far as I can, with¬ 
out too much hampering my own work. If, how¬ 
ever, you give me your permission to examine the 
house, and grounds,—to interview your servants— 
and to ask you a question or two, if and when neces¬ 
sary, I think I may safely promise you immunity 
from annoyance.” 

“ Thank you,” and Vincent looked relieved. “ I 
will then, if you please, excuse myself now, and 
leave you to your own procedure. Touch the bell 
for my butler, and he will arrange for your inter¬ 
views with the other servants.” 

Homer Vincent rose and left the room, his slight 
limp appearing a little more in evidence than usual. 

After Vincent’s departure, the detective sat a 
moment in deep thought. 

Bryce Collins put this down to a desire to appear 
profound and weighted down by care. 

Rosemary thought it was merely the habit of any 
detective to sit and ponder at intervals. 

But Fibsy knew at once that, somehow, some¬ 
where, Stone had seen or heard something indicative. 
Something had demanded immediate and serious 
thought. Not for worlds would the boy have spoken 
then. Nothing would have induced him to blurt out 





280 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


some of his saucy speeches. He watched the play 
of Stone’s features, he gazed eagerly in his face for 
a sign of what was passing in his mind. But though 
grave and preoccupied, the detective’s face gave no 
hint of the trend his thoughts were taking. 

After a few moments, however, he roused him¬ 
self and with a brisk air turned to Collins. 

“ Now, for an examination of the house,” he 
said; “ though I fear I may become so engrossed in 
the marvels of architecture and decoration as to for¬ 
get my main business here.” 

“ That’s what Mr. Johnson did,” Rosemary said. 

“You didn’t see him?” and Stone turned to 
her quickly. 

“ No,” Rosemary was almost frightened at his 
suddenness, “ no, the butler told me. He said Mr. 
Johnson was overcome with admiration and wonder. 
Indeed, he must have been, to have wandered about 
nearly all night.” 

“Where do you suppose he wandered?” Stone 
said, musingly. 

“ I don’t know, I’m sure, but he couldn’t have 
been in his room long, as it was so undisturbed.” 

“ Oh,” Stone sighed deeply, “ if I’d only been 



FLEMING STONE ON THE CASE 281 


here at once. I suppose all the rooms he might have 
visited that night, in his tour of admiration, have 
since been swept and garnished, dusted and polished 
to the last degree! ” 

“ Yes, they have,” said Rosemary. “ The detec¬ 
tives looked them all over and said Mr. Johnson left 
no clues.” 

“Ugh-h-h!” Fibsy’s grunt was one of utter 
disdain for the detectives who could find nothing to 
detect. Without a word, he conveyed the idea that 
Fleming Stone would have found plenty of evidence 
from those cursorily examined rooms. 

“ Here’s one clue they found,” Rosemary said. 
She was anxious to help and she was deeply inter¬ 
ested in the new detective. 

Aside from his chivalrous courtesy, Fleming 
Stone had great charm when he chose to exercise it, 
and feeling exceedingly sorry for the girl, whose 
story Collins had already told him, he paid her such 
pleasant and deferential attention that she was glad 
to offer any information. 

From a table-drawer she took the long-handled 
cigarette-holder which had been found out in the 
grounds. 



£82 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


“ This is known to be Mr. Johnson’s,” she said, 
“ and as it was found outside, we assume he strolled 
round the grounds.” 

“ Wasn’t it a cold, snowy night?” 

“ Not after midnight. I came home about twelve 
—or, nearer one,—and it had stopped snowing, 
though it was cold. But not too cold for a walk.” 

“ Yet remember he had on no hat or overcoat.” 

“ Oh, he may have had,” Collins interposed. 
“ He wore none when he went away, after the crime. 
But he may have strolled round the grounds before 
that, with his hat and coat on, and then he dropped 
his cigarette-holder.” 

“ Odd thing to do,” Stone observed. “ Yet he 
may have thought he slipped it in his pocket and it 
fell to the ground. You’re sure it is his? ” 

“ Yes, Mellish recognized it as the one he used 
after dinner,” Rosemary answered him. 

“ Let me see Mellish,” Stone said, abruptly, and 
the butler was called. 

“ Now, I don’t want a lot of information, Mel¬ 
lish,” Stone said, pleasantly. “ Just tell me anything 
you can remember of Mr. Johnson’s conversation at 
dinner that evening he dined here.” 



FLEMING STONE ON THE CASE 283 


Mellish looked blank. Evidently he had expected 
quite different inquiries. 

“ Well, now, sir, I’m not sure I can remember 
much of that. I opine it’s as evidence you want this, 
and I must have a care that I do not undervalue 
its importance.” 

Stone suppressed a smile at the rather gran¬ 
diloquent air of the speaker and Fibsy stared at 
him, fascinated. 

“ Yes, it is important,” Stone assured him, “ so 
tell it as accurately as you can. What subjects did 
the visitor choose for conversation?” 

“ Well, sir, he didn’t do much of the choosing. 
I should say Mr. Vincent selected the topics of dis¬ 
sertation. And, as I recollect, two or three times, 
Mr. Johnson began a sentence, and Mr. Vincent 
would say, ‘ No, no, we must not discuss business 
at the table.’ It is a sovereignal rule of Mr. Vincent, 
sir, never to talk on business or any serious matters 
at meal-times. He held that table-talk must ever be 
light and agreeable,—yes, sir, light and agreeable.” 

“ And you think the subject of Mr. Johnson’s 
business with Mr. Vincent was not an agreeable 
subject? ” 

“ Oh, I wouldn’t say that, sir. I opine it was 




284 SPOOKY HOLLOW 

* 

agreeable enough, but of a serious nature,-—yes, sir, 
of a serious nature/’ 

“ Just what did Mr. Johnson start to say, when 
Mr. Vincent asked him not to introduce the subject? 
Anything regarding rubies ? ” 

“ No, sir—it was more in the line of remingin- 
cence,—yes, sir, remingincence. Once, I recollect, 
Mr. Johnson said, ‘ You see, I was his confidential 
clerk—’ he said that just as I was entering the room 
with my tray, and I heard that much, and then Mr. 
Vincent said, ‘ No, no, my friend, no reference to 
business just now, if you please,’ or something 
like that.” 

“ Never mind the exact words of Mr. Vincent, 
but try to remember more of the speeches of Mr. 
Johnson. You see, Mellish, it is most important that 
we get a line on what sort of a gentleman he was. 
And I don’t want to trouble Mr. Vincent in these 
matters unless necessary.” 

“Yes, sir, I see. Well, Mr. Johnson was remark¬ 
ing on the beauty of the house, you see, and he said, 
quite impressive like, ‘ but it doesn’t make me forget 
my real errand here,—I am here for a purpose,—’ 
and then again Mr. Vincent told him to wait 


FLEMING STONE ON THE CASE 285 

till after dinner ta discuss the business that 
brought him here.” 

“ Any more? ” 

“ Well, he spoke of a trust—” 

“Do you think he meant a great jewel trust? 
Or Jewelers’ Union?” 

“ Oh, no, sir! Not at all. He meant a trust had 
been given to him—a sacred trust, he called it.” 

“ Oh, then that had nothing to do with the 
business in hand.” 

“ Well, I don’t know, sir. Mr. Vincent shut him 
off again, just the same way.” 

“ Perhaps it referred to Miss Anne’s ruby. Was 
that a trust to her for any one else ? ” 

“ Not that I know of, sir.” 





> 


CHAPTER XV 


A FEW DEDUCTIONS 

Fleming Stone and his red-headed assistant 
sat in their little parlor at the Hilldale inn. 

They had not said much as yet about the Vincent 
mystery, but each was thinking deeply. 

At last, Stone, with a straightforward glance at 
the boy, said: 

“ Find Henry Johnson.” j 

“ Find Henry Johnson,” Fibsy repeated, but he 
added a prolonged wink, that left him with one blue 
eye staring wide open and the other optic tightly 
closed. 

“Meaning?” asked Stone, meditatively, gazing 
at this expressive facial contortion. 

“ Meaning,” returned Fibsy, his closed eye once 
more opening to the world at large, “ that Mr. Henry 
Johnson is going to be hard to find—very hard 
to find.” 

“ Meaning, again? ” 

“ Why, that a man who has been tee-tum-tee- 

totally missing for something over six weeks, isn’t 
286 




A FEW DEDUCTIONS 287 

going to be picked up overnight, is he, 'now, 
F. Stone? ” 

“ Perhaps not, Fibs, but the first move on our 
chess-board is to find him. Now, for a systematic 
search, let’s first observe his clothing,—which is, I 
believe, at the Police Station.” 

“ Eccentric guy, Henry,—isn’t he? ” and Fibsy s 
blue eyes stared out over his tightly closed fists, on 
which his cheeks rested. 

“ As how?” 

“As to his occupation all through the night. 
Say, he pulled off his robbery and murder stunt at 
seven a.m., which is what the doctors put the time at. 
Then, as Mr. Vincent left his visitor at about eleven, 
that man was so interested in the beautiful house 
that he prowled around it for eight mortal hours! 
Going some,—F. Stone,—going some! ” 

“ All right, but what else did he do? We know 
he didn’t go to bed. He may have lain down on 
some sofa or couch for a nap,—and, remember the 
cigarette-holder,—that proves he went for a walk 
round the grounds.” 

“ Out back to that Spooky Hollow place, I s’pose. 
Investigatin’ the Spooky Harp and the Spooky Lady 
who plays on it. Well, I reckernize all that, but I 





288. 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


still say he was a long time a pokin’ around espe¬ 
cially as the night watchman never caught a peek 
of him.” 

“ Then it must be that he did drop down on some 
convenient couch for a nap. Lord knows, there are 
plenty of them here and there, all over that house. 
I saw a dozen.” 

“ Yes, Mr. Vincent is of a home comforts type. 
Why, the swivel chair in his private office room is 
all cushioned and upholstered.” 

“ And Johnson may have taken his doze in a 
chair. But it makes little difference where he spent 
the night, the point is, where is he now? and can 
we trace him from the clothes and clues he left 
behind him? ” 

“ You can, F. Stone. That’s your business, isn’t 
it? Why, the man is as good as caught already! ” 

“ That will do, McGuire, this is no time for 
foolery. Come along now to the Headquarters, and 
for Heaven’s sake, keep your eyes open. The trails 
are very stale, and we shall be hard put to it to read 
much from them.” 

But when Stone was given the hat and coat of 
the missing man, his eyes lighted up with expectancy. 

“ This hat tells us a lot,” he said, and Brown and 


A FEW DEDUCTIONS 


289 


Brewster, who had come to listen to the celebrated 
detective’s deductions, drew nearer. 

“ It is brand-new, it shows that Mr. Johnson has 
a large head, that he is slightly bald, that he had 
just had a hair-cut, that, though this is a Derby, 
he usually wore a soft hat,—that he didn’t like this 
hat at all,—and that may be the reason he didn’t 
wear it when he went away. It also tells us that Mr. 
Johnson is of a pronounced brunette type, with dark 
hair and eyes, and of a strong, vigorous vitality. 
But these descriptive bits are of little use, for we 
already know the appearance and personality of the 
man. We are not trying to discover who owns this 
hat, but where he is.” 

“ All the same, your deductions are mighty inter¬ 
esting,” Brown said, his eyes shining with curiosity. 
“ And, though it may seem a, b, c to you, won’t you 
tell us how you got those facts? ” 

Stone answered this categorically, saying, “ His 
head must be large, because this hat is seven and a 
half, and yet it shows signs on the sweat-band of 
having been pulled down hard, to fit on his head. 
He had a recent hair-cut, because a few short hairs 
are caught in the tiny bow of silk braid inside the 
hat, and he was probably bald, because there is a 
19 


290 SPOOKY HOLLOW 

faint odor of a certain lotion that I know is used 
in many barber shops as a hair stimulant. He was 
accustomed to a soft hat, for on each side of this 
crown you may see rubbed places, where he has 
absent-mindedly grasped it in one hand as one does 
a soft hat. I feel sure he didn’t like a hat that was 
too tight for him, and was stiff and uncomfortable 
compared to a Fedora, yet it doesn’t seem quite plau¬ 
sible to assume that as the reason for his leaving 
it behind him. I think it more likely, that he wore 
this hat when out strolling round the grounds, but 
he did not have it on when he committed the crime, 
and that he hastened away after that, in such a hurry, 
or in such a distraction of mind, that he did not then 
return to his room for his hat. 

“ Of course the deductions as to his personal 
appearance are based on these few short, strong 
black hairs, which naturally connote a brunette type 
and the dark eyes and physical vigor that accom¬ 
pany that coloring. 

“ But, as I say, these traits of Mr. Johnson are 
known to Mr. Vincent, and so are of no further 
importance. What we want is some clue that may 
suggest his possible destination on leaving Great- 
larch. Let me see the coat.” 


A FEW DEDUCTIONS 


291 


The coat proved to be an ordinary, fairly expen¬ 
sive overcoat,—new, and of good style. There was 
nothing in the pockets but a handkerchief, also new, 
and unmarked, a pair of new gloves, that had not 
even been tried on, and, in a small pocket, evidently 
meant for the purpose, less than a dollar in silver, 
doubtless to be handy for car-fare or tips. 

“ All just as we found it,” Brewster told him, 
and Stone looked regretfully at the gloves. 

“What can anybody learn from new gloves?” 
he said, dejectedly, “except the size of his hands 
and the type of his haberdashery, which is in no way 
helpful. But why did the man have this entire new 
outfit merely to come up here on a business errand? 
The fact that all his things are so very new is a 
peculiar circumstance in itself.” 

“Here's his umbrella,” Brewster said; “this 
isn't so new. You see it has his monogram on 
the handle.” 

“ A monogrammed umbrella is an unusual thing 
for any one,” Stone said. 

“ Probably given him by his Sunday-school 
class,” Fibsy put in. 

“ More likely by a rich maiden aunt,” Brown 
suggested. “ Makers of synthetic rubies are not apt 




292 SPOOKY HOLLOW 

to be of a religious tendency. However, it’s a fine 
umbrella.” 

It was, and Stone examined it closely. Of thick, 
rich black silk, it had a silver-mounted handle, 
which showed an H and a J intertwined in an 
elaborate monogram. 

The ribs were of the best, and aside from the 
maker’s name, there seemed no other details to note. 

“ Observe the monogram, McGuire,” Stone said, 
quietly, passing it to the boy. 

Gravely, Fibsy scrutinized the chased letters, and 
his round, freckled face drew itself into a frown 
of perplexity. 

A quick glance at Stone showed him that there 
was something to be learned from the mono¬ 
gram, but, for once, Terence McGuire was dense 
or ignorant. 

“ I can’t see it, F. Stone,” he said, in a chagrined 
tone. “ What is it? ” 

“ Oh, nothing. Just get the monogram fixed in 
your mind,—carry away a mental picture of it.” 

So Fibsy looked hard at the deeply engraved H 
and the long, slender J that ran down through the 
middle of it, after the manner of monograms, and 
then declared he knew it so well he could draw it in 


A FEW DEDUCTIONS 293 

the dark, with his eyes shut and both hands tied 
behind him. 

“What about the monogram, Mr. Stone?” 
Brewster asked, but Stone only shook his head, say¬ 
ing : “ perhaps nothing, perhaps a signboard point¬ 
ing to the truth. As soon as I find out which, I’ll tell 
you. At any rate the umbrella, though well pre¬ 
served and cared for, is not a brand-new one. 
Where’s his bag? ” 

The kitbag was brought, but if the audience 
expected any sensational deductions by Fleming 
Stone, they were disappointed. He ran over care¬ 
lessly the few black rubber-backed brushes and the 
few new, unmarked pieces of underwear. He 
glanced at the necktie and handkerchiefs. All new, 
and all of fairly good quality, without being elabo¬ 
rate or expensive. 

The atomizer interested him rather more. 

“ Isn’t there a bottle of lotion to go with this? ” 
he asked. 

“ That’s what we wondered,” said Brown, 
eagerly, glad to have his thoughts coincide with those 
of the great detective. 

“ There’s almost nothing in it,” Stone went on, 
“ and from the odor I gather it’s an antiseptic prepa- 


294 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


ration,—doubtless for some catarrhal affection. 
Where’s the vial? There must be one, and it may 
have a chemist’s name on it.” 

“ There isn’t any bottle, Mr. Stone, and there 
was none in his room or his bathroom. He must 
have forgotten to bring it.” 

“ He forgot to bring anything indicative of his 
identity!” Stone said. “For a man on a short 
business trip, he had fewer personal articles of 
property than any one I ever saw! It would almost 
seem as if he were desirous of hiding his identity.” 

“ Yet there’s no rhyme or reason to that,” put 
in Brewster, “ he sent his name in to Mr. Vincent, 
and his umbrella bears witness that it was his 
real name.” 

“ Who brought him up from the station to 
Mr. Vincent’s house ? ” asked Stone, suddenly. 

“ Prout, the taxi driver,” Brown said. “ The 
Vincent butler told me so.” 

“ Has Prout been interviewed ? ” 

“ Yes, Mr. Stone, I questioned him myself,” 
Brewster stated; “ he said nothing of interest. 
Merely described the man as we’ve already had 
his description, said he came up on the New 
York train—” 


A FEW DEDUCTIONS 


295 


“ That’s a New York timetable in his bag,” 
Brown interposed. “ And it is the only scrap of 
paper he seemed to possess.” 

“ He took his money and papers with him,” 
Stone said; “ but can I see this Prout for myself, 
Mr. Brewster? ” 

“ Oh, yes, I’ll send for him at once.” 

And when Prout arrived, he gave, practically, 
the same description of the brunette Johnson, that 
Stone had already heard. 

“ Tell me of his manner,” Stone said; “ was he 
business-like ? ” 

“ Oh, Lord, yes. Spry and sort of up-and- 
coming, he was. Wanted to know a lot about Mr. 
Vincent, he did.” 

“ He had never seen him before? ” 

“ Well, they say he hadn’t, and I dunno’s he 
had,—no, sir, I dunno’s he had. But he did ask 
me right first-off if Mr. Vincent’s leg had 
healed yet.” 

“ I noticed Mr. Vincent limped a little,” Stone 
said, “ what’s the trouble? ” 

“ He broke his leg some few years ago, sir, 
and they’ve never been quite the same length since. 
Jest a mite of a limp,—as you could see. But this 


296 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


man musta known that, 'cause he asked me right 
outen a clear sky, did Mr. Vincent's leg get well. 
So, I says to myself, he’s an old friend. Well, sir, 
then he asked me was Mr. Vincent married! Ho, 
ho,—to think of Homer Vincent bein’ married! 
Why there ain’t an unlikelier marryin’ man on the 
footstool than Homer Vincent! That there ain’t! ” 

“ But Johnson could scarcely be an old friend 
without knowing that,” Stone observed. 

“ That’s jest it! And yet, he knew of Mr. Vin¬ 
cent’s brother and his sister and his niece.” 

“You’re sure? He didn’t gather the facts of 
these relationships from something you said? ” 

“No, he didn’t. For I said somethin’ about 
Miss Vincent and he said did I mean Miss 
Rosemary.” 

“ Then he knew of the niece. What else did he 
say?” 

“ Not much else. Oh, yep, I spoke of Mr. Vin¬ 
cent as the old man,—not meanin’ no disrespect, but 
jest in a manner o’ speakin’, an’ he says, sharp like, 
‘ Why do you call him an old man ? ’ an’ I says, 
‘ Thasso, he can’t be more’n fifty.’ An’ he can’t 
neither.” 

“ This is all interesting, Mr. Prout, but it only 


A FEW DEDUCTIONS 


297 


proves that Mr. Johnson knew some things about 
Mr. Homer, which he might easily have learned from 
hearsay. There’s nothing, so far, to indicate that 
they had ever met before.” 

“ I dessay that’s so,—an’ yet, somehow, he 
gimme the impression that he had seen the man. 
Maybe he hadn’t, though,—maybe he hadn’t.” 

“ Mr. Vincent said he was an entire stranger,” 
Brewster stated; “ I see no reason to doubt 
his word.” 

“ Me nuther,” said Prout. “ An’ when I told 
Mr. Johnson that Mr. Vincent was an inventor, 
he was surprised and interested.” 

“ He would be,” said Stone, “ because of his 
interest in the manufacture of his rubies. But I 
didn’t know Homer Vincent was an inventor.” 

“ Oh, he just putters about, making up odd 
tricks,” Brown said, smiling. “ He isn’t an inventor 
by way of patenting things, or manufacturing them.” 

“What line do his inventions take?” Stone 
inquired. 

“ Mostly electrical,” Brewster informed him. 
“ Little contraptions to make bells ring in his house 
where he wants them. Speaking-tubes from his 
rooms to the servants’ quarters. I’ve seen them in 


298 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


use. They’re a little more elaborate and ingenious 
than other folks have. And they say he rigs them 
up himself.” 

“ Well, Mr. Prout,” Stone addressed him, “ I 
think you have given me about all the information 
you can, and I thank you. Now, one more question. 
Merely as an observer of human nature, would you 
say that your fare that day was a man bent on a 
sinister errand, I mean on an errand of evil intent,— 
or merely on a matter of business ? ” 

Prout considered. 

“ Well, sir,” he said, at last, “ it’s sorter hard 
to tell. But, while I wouldn’t wanta say that Mr. 
Johnson was on any such devilish errand as he car¬ 
ried out before he left, yet I will say that he had a 
more personal interest in Mr. Vincent and his home 
and his family than I’d expect from a man cornin’ 
on a plain matter o’ business. He was sorta excited 
an’ eager-like,—more’n you’d expect from a agent 
for a jewelry house.” 

“ I see,—he anticipated some pleasure or profit 
from his visit beside the business proposition he was 
to make.” 

“ That’s it, sir. And without meanin’ to do 
more’n I oughter in the way o’ deducin’—or what- 


A FEW DEDUCTIONS 


299 


ever you call it,—I might make a guess that he was 
a bit interested in Miss Rosemary.” 

Fleming Stone’s heart gave a sudden thump. 
Bryce Collins had told him that Mr. Vincent had 
hinted that the murderer might be some of the 
girl’s disreputable kinsfolk,—on her mother’s side. 
Suppose this were true! 

“Why did you think that?” he asked, sharply. 

“ Oh, come now, I didn’t exactly think it,—only 
just the way he said Miss Rosemary’s name, made 
me think he might be sweet on her.” 

“Oh, that!” Stone was relieved. “But how 
could he know the girl, when he didn’t know her 
uncle? ” 

“ I don’t say he did know her—only, I sorta 
imagined he sounded interested in her.” 

“ Probably it was imagination,” and Stone de¬ 
clared the whole interview at an end. 

As he and Fibsy left the place, the detective pro¬ 
posed that Prout drive them out to the Vincent 
home, and as they went the trio chatted casually of 
the whole matter. But no detail of importance could 
Stone gain further, and when they reached their 
destination, he discarded the idea of the taxi driver 
as a source of information. 


300 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


Before entering the house, Stone took a short 
walk round the grounds. 

He found the place where, as he had been told, 
the cigarette-holder had been picked up. 

It was perhaps twenty-five or thirty feet from 
the broken stone fence that marked off the dark 
glade known as Spooky Hollow. 

“ Don’t wonder at the name? Do you? ” Fibsy 
said, shuddering at the dark and dense gloom of the 
tangled underbrush in the thicket. 

“ No, it’s an eerie place,” and Stone gazed 
thoughtfully into its depths. “ I don’t want to get 
all messed up, but I wish, Terence, you’d go in there 
some time, and see just what’s inside. Probably 
nothing at all, and yet, you might get a pointer.” 

“ All right, F. S., I’ll tend to that same errand 
soon’s I can. Or shall I go right now, immejit? ” 

“No, tomorrow will do. Wear your oldest 
clothes.” 

“ Yes, sir. What’m I to look for? ” 

“I can’t think of anything,” Stone smiled. “But 
it seems a place to be explored, that’s all. A place 
called Spooky Hollow is suggestive of spooks, isn’t 
it? You might find a few.” 


A FEW DEDUCTIONS 


301 


“ ’Tis the same as done, sir,” and Fibsy nodded 
his red shock in a promissory way. 

In the house they found Bryce Collins and Rose¬ 
mary, in what seemed to be a desperate controversy. 

The girl’s lovely face was tear-stained and her 
lips quivered, as she greeted Stone. 

Fibsy’s tender heart was torn, for beauty in dis¬ 
tress was one thing he could not bear to see. At 
heart the boy was a squire of dames, and'his first 
sight of Rosemary had enlisted his whole-hearted 
sympathy in her cause. 

“ We’ve been looking at Spooky Hollow,” said 
Stone, by way of a casual remark to dispel the awk¬ 
wardness of the scene. 

Rosemary controlled her voice and responded, 
“ It’s a shame to use that name for such a lovely 
place, don’t you think so? ” 

“ I do,” Stone agreed, “ unless there are really 
spooks out there. In that case, it’s appropriate. Are 
there, Miss Vincent?” 

“ I’ve never seen any,” she gave a half smile and 
then her face turned very serious. “ But I have 
heard the Wild Harp, Mr. Stone,—how do you ex¬ 
plain that? ” 

“ Tell me of it,—describe it exactly, will you ? ” 


302 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


“ Why, there’s little to tell—it’s just a wave of 
faint music that sounds now and then.” 

“ Like an seolian harp? ” 

“ No—not exactly. It’s more like—well, I may 
as well say that it sounds more like ghostly music 
than anything else I can think of.” 

“ How do you know how ghostly music sounds ?” 
and Stone smiled at her. 

“ Why, I don’t—of course,—but it’s so faint and 
sweet and—” 

“ Is there an air—a tune ? ” 

“ No, not a definite tune—more like a wailing 
strain, that has no beginning or end.” 

“And that makes it ghostly?” 

“ Now, you’re laughing at me, Mr. Stone,” and 
Rosemary’s color returned to her cheeks, and she 
was again her own charming self. 

“ Indeed, I’m not. And, I’m told that this Harp 
plays at certain times, in accordance with advices 
from the spirit world.” 

“ Oh, not quite that! ” Rosemary looked sur¬ 
prised. “ But they say when it does sound, it for- 
bodes disaster.” 

“ And it sounded the night of your aunt’s 
death? ” 


A FEW DEDUCTIONS 


303 


“ Yes, I heard it myself, between two and three.” 

“ Will you call your butler, Miss Vincent? ” 

Mellish appeared in answer to a summons, and 
Fleming Stone turned to him at once. 

“ Mellish,” he said, “ have you ever heard this 
Wild Harp?” 

Though he tried to suppress it, a faint smile 
came to the face of the butler. 

“ Well, sir,—I may say I have. But, if you’re 
thinking seriously as to its being of a supernatural 
persuasion,—I opine sir, as it isn’t.” 

“ H’m, and what do you opine causes the 
music? ” 

“ I’m not free of speech, not free to say, sir,— 
but ’tis my notion that those who hear it have the 
imagination strongly developed.” 

“ Ah, you think it is a freak of their fancy? ” 

“ Just that, sir.” 

“ Yes; and now, Mellish, I want to check up on 
something you said. You know we’re trying every 
possible way to find Henry Johnson.” 

“Yes, sir, I am aware of your endeavors in 

that direction.” 

“ Very well. Now, you know he came here to 
see Mr. Vincent about making rubies? ” 

“ Yes, sir,—that’s no secret, sir.” 



304 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


“ No, it is not. Mr. Vincent told it himself. 
But the making of rubies is not so common a busi¬ 
ness but that we ought to be able to trace a man 
who makes it his calling. ,, 

“ Common a business it may not be, but Mr. 
Johnson is the second man, within a month or so, 
to come here to see Mr. Vincent about it.” 

“ Doubtless the same man—” 

“ Oh, no, sir, the other man was quite 
different—” 

“ I mean, probably from the same firm of 
manufacturers.” 

“ It may be. The other man’s name was Mark¬ 
ham,—or something like that—” 

“ Never mind that now,” Stone spoke a little 
impatiently, “ what I want to know is about the 
Wild Harp. But, not now, Mellish, it’s later than 
I thought. I’ll see you about that tomorrow. You 
may go now.” 

As the butler left the room, Stone said to Bryce 
Collins, “ I suppose, Mr. Collins, I am to make my 
report of my findings to you? ” 

“ Why, yes, Mr. Stone,—but if you have any 
developments of importance to tell of, it might be a 
good idea to ask Mr. Vincent if he wants to hear 


A FEW DEDUCTIONS 


305 


them. He—well, I don’t want to seem to neg¬ 
lect him.” 

“ That’s true, call him, if you like.” 

Homer Vincent came at the summons. He 
looked anxious to hear the report and was most 
courteous and gracious to Stone. 

“ I haven’t learned very much,” Fleming Stone 
said, “ but I have found out these things. The man 
who came here the day Miss Vincent died was not 
named Henry Johnson. His initials were not H. J. 
He didn’t come to see about synthetic rubies; he 
didn’t murder Miss Vincent, and he didn’t steal her 
famous jewel.” 


CHAPTER XVI 


/ 


FIBSY EXPLORES 

Rosemary and Bryce Collins looked at the detec¬ 
tive in blank amazement. Fibsy sat listening, open- 
minded and receptive. He knew that if Fleming 
Stone said the missing man’s name was not Henry 
Johnson, it wasn’t. But he had no data on which 
to hazard a guess as to what the right name might 
be, so he waited. 

Homer Vincent, however, showed a decided in¬ 
terest in Stone’s statements. 

“ Do you know,” he said, “ I am not surprised 

to learn that the man used an assumed name. I 

* 

suspected it from his little start of surprise when I 
called him Johnson, now and then. Just as a man 
would, if he were using the wrong name, and forgot 
it occasionally. But I don’t understand why you 
say those are not his initials on the umbrella. Of 
course, it might be somebody else’s umbrella—” 

“ No, Mr. Vincent,” Stone said, “ it is his um¬ 
brella all right. But the initials on it are J. H. and 
not H. J.” 

306 


FIBSY EXPLORES 


307 


“ Now how in the world do you know that? ” 
Collins exclaimed. “ How can you tell ? ” 

“ Because the H is a trifle larger. Monograms 
are invariably made with the initial of the surname 
larger than the initial of the Christian name, and 
the H in this case, though nearly the same size as 
the J, is, in fact, a little larger and more prominent. 
See for yourself.” 

Stone left the room a moment and returned with 
the umbrella, which he had borrowed from the police 
and left in the coat room of Greatlarch. 

They all scrutinized the engraved letters and 
were forced to the conclusion that Stone was right. 

“ This complicates matters,” Vincent said, 
thoughtfully. “ He told me his name was Johnson 
and that he lived at the Walford, in New York. 
Perhaps that was also a fictitious address. And you 
think his errand about the synthetic rubies was also 
faked, Mr. Stone ? Then he came purposely to mur¬ 
der my sister—” 

Homer Vincent was staggered by the thoughts 
that rushed to his mind consequent upon these new 
disclosures of Stone’s. 

“ But Mr. Stone says that man didn’t kill 


308 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 




Antan! ” put in Rosemary. “ Do you know who 
did, Mr. Stone? ” 

“ Not positively,” said Stone. “ I shall have to 
go down to New York and see what I can do—” 

“ Perhaps he had an accomplice,” suggested Vin¬ 
cent. “ I hadn’t thought of that before.” 

“ No, I hadn’t, either,” Stone said. “ Perhaps 
he had. At any rate, I will go down to New York 
tomorrow, and I will ask you all to say nothing to 
any one of my findings. I speak confidentially to 
you here, because Mr. Collins is my employer, and 
Mr. Vincent and Miss Rosemary are the ones chiefly 
interested in avenging the murder.” 

“ Aside from the identity of the murderer, Mr. 
Stone, how do you explain the locked door? ” 

“ That’s hard to explain, Mr. Vincent. The 
doctors state the murder was committed not more 
than an hour or so before the body was discovered. 
That makes it about seven o’clock or after. But I 
have talked with the little maid, Francine, and she 
vows no one was in or near Miss Vincent’s room 
after six, that morning. She says her room is next 
to that her mistress occupied and that she was awake 
from six o’clock on. She declares no intruder could 
have made his way in without her hearing him.” 




FIBSY EXPLORES 


309 


“ Then/' Vincent spoke seriously, “ then do you 
still discard my suggestion of possible supernatural 
forces, Mr. Stone? ” 

“ I most certainly do, Mr. Vincent. Had the 
lady been killed by shock or fright, there might be 
a reason to consider an apparition or a phantom 
visitant, but not even a spook from Spooky Hollow 
could stab its victim to the heart with a real dagger/’ 

“ Of course not,” and Homer Vincent sighed 
and shook his head. 

“ Go on, then,” he continued. “ Now that you 
have a definite proposition to work on and a hope 
of discovering the criminal, I renew my offer of 
funds for the enterprise. Go to New York, Mr. 
Stone, use every endeavor to find out the real name 
of the man who called himself Johnson, and send 
all your bills to me.” 

“ Thank you, Mr. Vincent,” Bryce Collins said, 
gratefully. “You take a load off my shoulders! 
Fm willing enough to stand all the expense, but I 
haven’t your resources, and mine are running low.” 

“That’s all right, Bryce,—the thing must be 
pushed through. And since Mr. Stone seems 
guine, I can only hope his quest will succeed.” 


san- 


310 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


And then, with a murmured word of excuse, 
Vincent left the room. 

“ He’s often like that,” Rosemary said, looking 
affectionately after him. “ He gets weary and sad 
at this continual discussion of Antan’s murder. 
Now, he’ll go and play the organ.” 

Which is just what Vincent did. Soon, they 
could hear muted strains of soft music rolling 
through the house. 

“Yes, he’s sad,” Rosemary reiterated, as she 
listened a moment to the chords. “ Not worried or 
revengeful, so much as deeply sorrowful. I can 
always tell by what he plays.” 

Fibsy, always interested in an unfamiliar phase 
of human behavior, went softly out into the marble 
vestibule that led to the organ room. 

Stepping up into the balcony that overlooked the 
great church-like room, the boy listened to the music 
Homer Vincent produced. 

Without musical education Fibsy had a natural 
appreciation of harmony, and as he raptly listened 
he felt almost as if he could read what was in the 
mind of the player. At least, he sensed the tragedy 
that filled the soul of the man at the keyboard, and 
realized in part, at any rate, what he suffered. 



FIBSY EXPLORES 


311 


Fleming Stone, alone with the two young lovers, 
was so gentle, so sympathetic, that before they knew 
it they were pouring out to him all the details of the 
other tragedy of Rosemary’s birth. 

“ It must be looked into,” Stone said, with de¬ 
cision. “ I’m sure, Miss Vincent, you would rather 
know the worst, than to live in ignorance of 
the truth.” 

“ Yes,” but the girl hesitated. “ I’m not sure. 
Suppose my mother was—” 

“ Don’t look at it like that. Your own refine¬ 
ment and good taste point to an ancestry of the 
right sort of people. Don’t let yourself think 
otherwise.” 

But this speech was not entirely sincere. Stone, 
always sympathetic in sorrow, merely said what he 
could to comfort the girl at the moment. After 
the murder business was settled, he proposed to take 
up the matter of Rosemary’s parentage. But he 
could not attend to both at once and he hated to 
have her grieve unnecessarily. 

“ And your uncle is right, to a degree,” he said, 
after she and Collins had told the details of Vincent’s 
restrictions. “ I don’t know him as well as you do, 
but I can see he is a high-minded gentleman with a 


312 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


right appreciation of his family responsibilities. 
Also, I see how dependent he is for happiness on 
the creature comforts of life. A door left open 
or slammed shut, a delayed answer to his summons, 
an intrusion on his hours of privacy,—any such 
things would, I am sure, annoy him to distrac¬ 
tion, when another type of man wouldn’t even 
notice them.” 

“ That’s just exactly Uncle Homer! ” Rosemary 
cried. “ You read him perfectly! ” 

“ And I can read you too, my dear,” Stone 
smiled at her. “ You love life and young society 
and parties and attentions from the young men. 

m 

You’d love to entertain lavishly in this beautiful 
home,—to fill these great rooms with gay and merry 
guests, to have all sorts of wonderful clothes and 
jewels,—come, now, wouldn’t you?” 

“Yes, indeed!” and Rosemary flushed with 
pleasure at his mere suggestion of such delights. 
“ But I know I oughtn’t to think of such things and 
I ought to be deeply grateful to Uncle Homer be¬ 
cause he lets me stay here.” 

“ That is true, Rosemary.” Stone spoke very 
gravely. “ It might well have been his way to ask 
you to live elsewhere. And since he offers you a 


FIBSY EXPLORES 


313 


home here with stipulations, you should obey him, 
however unpleasant to you his restrictions are.” 

“ I know it,” but the girl’s lip quivered a little 
and her golden-brown eyes filled with tears at 
thought of her stained name as well as her uncon¬ 
genial life. 

“ You’re sure your uncle has no further knowl¬ 
edge of your mother than he has told you? ” Stone 
inquired. “ He’s not the sort of man to conceal 
some fact that he thinks might make you even more 
sad than you are now? ” 

“ No, I don’t think so,—do you, Bryce? ” 

“ No, sir, I don’t. Mr. Vincent has been frank 
and outspoken in all of our discussions of the sub¬ 
ject. I feel grateful to him, as Rosemary does, but 
I think he might allow her a little more freedom. 
However, as soon as I can persuade her to consent, 
I mean to marry her, and take her far away from all 
people who know her at all. We shall start a new 
life for ourselves—” 

“ No, we will not!” Rosemary said, decidedly. 
“ I shall never marry anybody. An illegitimate child 
has no right to marry.” 

“ Tell me again,” Stone said to her, “ of your 


314 SPOOKY HOLLOW 

homecoming that night. You saw no sign of a guest 
in the house ? ” 

“ No, but that is not strange. I didn’t look in 
the general coat room, of course, and he had left 
none of his belongings anywhere else.” 

“You went around first, and peeped in at your 
uncle’s window. Why did you do that? ” 

“ Partly to see if he was likely to hear me come 
in—it was late—and partly because I saw from the 
driveway a very bright light in that room. An 
unusually bright light, so that I thought the room 
was afire.” 

“ What caused it? ” 

“ Oh, only that uncle’s open fire chanced to be 
blazing brightly. Then I saw him, and saw he was 
so engrossed in his papers and letters that I could 
take the chance of slipping in unobserved, and I did.” 

“ And you saw him putting away something 
glittering? ” 

“ Yes, that was the key of the wine cellar. I sup¬ 
pose that he had Mellish get out some special wine 
for his visitor.” 

“ Well, my child, I will do all I can for you 
later on, but now the case of your aunt will demand 
all my attention. I want a little talk with your 


FIBSY EXPLORES 


315 


uncle before I go, but perhaps we’d better not call 
him from the organ. I also want to talk with the 
maid who assisted your butler in serving at the table 
the night Mr. Johnson was here. Will you call 
her, please, and leave us together ? ” 

The waitress, Katie, was summoned; and, a trifle 
shy, she came in and stood before the detective. 

“ Sit down, Katie,” he said, kindly. “ Now, I’m 
not going to ask you anything of great importance, 
just try to remember anything Mr. Johnson may 
have said at the table that night. Anything at all. 
I don’t suppose you pay much attention to the talk 
of the guests as you wait on them, but you may 
recollect something he said—try now.” 

“ I don’t remember a thing,” the girl declared, 
and she was so positive, Stone wondered at first if 
some one had forbidden her to speak. 

But he discarded that idea when Katie, under the 
influence of his encouraging smiles, began to recol¬ 
lect a stray word or two. 

“ He said the house was pretty—” she vouch¬ 
safed at last, with a timid air. 

“ Yes,” Stone egged her on. “ And did he say 
anything about his own home—where he lived? ” 


316 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


“ Oh, yes,—he said he came from New York,— 
but I don’t think he lived there, because he said, 
‘ what fine hotels there are in New York.’ ” 

“ To be sure. And maybe he mentioned the one 
he was staying at—” 

“ Yes, he did that! He said he left his trunk at 
the Vandermore, and that was why he didn’t have 
any evening clothes to wear here. He said he didn’t 
expect to stay here overnight—but he was glad he 
did because he liked the house so much.” 

“ Just crazy over the house, wasn’t he?” 

“ Oh, he was, sir. And he said, if he ever had 
a voice in the matter he’d cut out a lot of trees,—he 
thought there were too many.” 

“ H’m, did he expect to buy the house? ” 

“ Oh, no, sir, he was just joking,—you could 
tell that.” 

“ Of course. Anything else? ” 

“ No, sir, but one time I heard him mention 
Miss Rosemary’s name.” 

“ As if he knew her? ” 

“ No, sir, more as if he wanted Mr. Vincent or 
Miss Vincent to tell him something about her. More 
as if he had heard of her—” 


FXBSY EXPLORES 


317 


“ I see. Most natural, I’m sure. Well, Katie, 
you gathered he had never been here before?” 

“ Oh, no sir, I’m sure he hadn’t.” 

“ Well, run along,—Katie. If you think of 
anything more you heard the gentleman say, you can 
let me know. Tell Mellish to bring you to me, in 
such a case.” 

“ Yes, sir,—thank you, sir.” 

With a shy little curtsey, Katie went away, and 
Stone went in search of the master of the house. 

The organ music had stopped so Stone was not 
surprised to find Vincent in his Tower room. 

The detective was really as much impressed and 
interested as the mysterious Johnson in the archi¬ 
tecture and decoration of the house, but he felt he 
had no time to waste in idle enjoyment of 
its beauties. 

“ Wonderful place,” he said to his host, as he 
entered, after a knock at the closed door. “ You 
found many secret hiding-places or sliding panels, 
perhaps ? ” 

“ Several,” Vincent told him. “ Not so very 
secret, though. See, the one in this room opens by 
merely pressing this knob. And the knob is not hard 
to discern if any one looks closely for it.” 


318 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


u 


That’s true,” and Stone watched as Vincent 
turned the little knob and the panel slid smoothly and 
noiselessly back. 

It exposed a recess with two or three shelves,— 
merely a concealed cupboard, large enough to contain 
half a dozen good-sized boxes which evidently held 
papers of value. 

“ This is my safe-deposit vault, Mr. Stone,” 
Vincent said, smiling. “ I have no other. I’m a 
man of simple habits, and all my papers or docu¬ 
ments of any importance are in here. They are of 
no value to any one but myself—I mean they are 
of no money value. My stocks and bonds are at 
my banker’s. But here I keep my will, my deeds to 
this house, and my private correspondence.” 

“ And the papers regarding Miss Rosemary’s 
parentage,” Stone said. “ May I see those? ” 

“ Certainly,” and Vincent gave him the large 
bundles of his brother’s letters. 

“ It is a distressing subject,” Vincent said. “ I 
have always known that Rosemary was Carl’s 
adopted daughter, but I did not know, until young 
Collins learned it in France, that she is also his 
illegitimate child. I feel that I have my share of 
sorrow, Mr. Stone.” 






FIBSY EXPLORES 


319 


“ You surely have, Mr. Vincent, and I realize 
the shock it was to you to learn this truth about your 
brother, just after the awful tragedy of your 
sister’s death.” 

“ Yes. And that is one reason why I cannot con¬ 
sent to have guests and laughter and gayety about 
my home. Rosemary is not without sensibilities, not 
without appreciation of the depth of my sorrow, but 
she is young and she is of an exceptionally volatile, 
light-hearted disposition. And, though, of course, 
she does not wish entertainment and frivolities now, 
yet she does want the companionship of her young 
friends, and I confess their very presence wears on 
my nerves so that I have to beg her to refrain from 

i 

asking them here. You may not understand it, Mr. 
Stone, but I am a peculiar man, and the life of a 
hermit best suits my tastes and inclinations.” 

“ I do understand, Mr. Vincent, and I see clearly 
that you could not live with any degree of peace and 
contentment with young visitors about.” 

“ And if Rosemary were my own niece,—I mean 
a legitimate Vincent, the case would be different. 
But as things are, I feel that I am not overstepping 
my rights to insist on conducting my household as 
I wish.” 


320 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


“ You certainly are not. I feel deeply sorry 
for you and your niece both. I could wish you had 
never learned the truth of her parentage.” 

“ I heartily wish that, too, but in a way it brings 
her nearer to me to know that she was Carl’s 
daughter, even though born out of wedlock.” 

“It is a hard case, any way you look at it,” 
and then Stone went back to his quarters at the inn. 

Late that afternoon, Fibsy told of his investi¬ 
gation of the jungle known as Spooky Hollow. 

“Gee! it’s some place!” he exclaimed. “I’m 
glad I put on my old clothes, for I got well 
muddied up! ” 

“ What did you find? ” 

“ Mud, muck, and morass,” returned the boy, 
succinctly. 

“Do you know what morass means?” Stone 
asked, smiling. 

“ You bet I do. I lived near one at home, when 
I was a kid. It’s a sort of swamp that’s mighty 
hard to walk on, and if it’s morassy enough it sucks 
you down in, and you’re a goner! That’s what a 
morass is.” 

“ Did you see any reason to think Mr. Johnson 
might have been sucked in? ” Stone spoke seriously. 


FIBSY EXPLORES 


321 


“ No, F. S., no reason to think so. Of course, 
he mighta done so,—but I can’t see it. Why, even 
if he went strolling about the grounds and got stuck 
in the swamp, even got sucked in and sank down 
outa sight,—why, of course that would have been 
in the evening like,—and if he had done that, he 
couldn’t have killed the lady. It’s unpossible he 
could have done any strolling about after he killed 
her,—’long about seven o’clock in the morning. 
After that murder he had all he could do to hasten 
off to hide himself. And, anyway, I don’t know’s 
the morass is as bad as that. I tested it,—I took 
off my coat—it was my old one,—and I wrapped 
up a big stone in it. Then I flung it out into the 
softest-looking spot.” 

“ What happened? ” 

“ It went down,—it was sucked in. But that 
was, after all, only a small bundle compared to a 
whole man. And, too, if he had found himself 
sinking, in a place like that, he’d a set up a yell, 
wouldn’t he? And somebody’d heard him, wouldn’t 
they? No, I can’t connect up friend Johnson’s 
disappearance with that quagmirey place. I don’t 
say a man couldn’t sink there, but I say there’s no 
21 


322 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


theory of the crime that would take him out there 
after the lady was dead.” 

“ That’s perfectly true. And even if he strolled 
round the grounds late that night, it must have been 
before midnight, or the watchman would have seen 
him. And, too, I can imagine his strolling in the 
gardens, but late at night a man doesn’t venture into 
such a messy place as you make out Spooky Hollow 
to be. See any spooks there ? ” 

“ Not a sign of one. It isn’t such a bad place, 
you know. Except for a few mucky holes, it’s fairly 
good going, and the tangle of vines and low ever¬ 
greens is wild and weird in the extreme.” 

Stone suppressed a smile at the boy’s diction, for 
he knew he was trying to improve his English, and 
if occasionally he erred on the side of stilted speech, 
it was wiser not to notice it. 

“ You heard the Wild Harp?” 

“ No, sir, I didn’t, though I listened out for it. 
Also, I looked good for wires,—for I’ve been think¬ 
ing it might be some rigged-up contraption. But 
nary sign of wires or ceolian harp strings or any¬ 
thing but trees and shrubs £nd scrubs and general 
rank undergrowth.” 
















FIBSY EXPLORES 


323 


“ Well, McGuire, how do you size up the whole 
thing? ” 

Fibsy was flattered,—doubly so, at being called 
by his surname, and by having his opinion seriously 
asked. 

He considered before speaking and then said: 

“ It’s no use, F. Stone,—I can’t size it up at all. 
It’s too many for me. I’ve sometimes had glimmer¬ 
ings of wit about deducing things, but this time, I’m 
up a stump for fair. But of one thing I am sure. 
That there wild and wicked harp must play, for so 
many people have heard it. From His Nibs and 
Miss Rosy Posy, down to the lowest and littlest of 
the servant-girls, most of them have heard it at one 
time or another. 

“ Except old Mellish. He vows he never has, 
and there’s a twinkle in his eye whenever he speaks 
of it. So, leave that Harp to me. I’m going to find 
out about it,—and, oh, gee! what a dunderhead I 
am! Why I’ve got it now! I see through the Wild 
Harp! Well, I am a dumb-bell, that’s what I am! ” 

“ Suppose you stop your careful estimation of 
yourself and tell me your astounding discovery.” 

“Not just yet,—oh, give me a chance to make 
sure. But I’ll tell you this, F. Stone, that harp is 




324 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


played by human fingers, and those same fingers are 
on the mitt of that dough-faced butler! Th; 
who’s responsible for them wailings and goings 
of that phantom harp! Phantom, indeed! If V 
lish is a phantom! ” 

“ So you think he manipulates the Harp. W 
for, may I ask? ” 

“ Well,” Fibsy was very serious, “ I should 
as he rigged it up at first to tease his wife. SI 
a scary sort of thing, and terribly afraid of gho 
And having Spooky Hollow ready-made for him 
you may say, I take it he just fixed up the h 
arrangement for fun.” 

“ And after Miss Vincent’s death, you think 
kept on with his joke? ” 

“ I can’t see any other way out. Some pec 
have a perverted sense of humor, sir, and he r 
have thought it added to the dramatic side of thi 
to have the harp wailing and moaning out there.” 

“ Just how did he work it? ” 

“ That’s what I’m going to figger out. I can 
it, I know.” 

“ Well, go to it, Fibs. Now, I’m leaving 
New York to-night, and I want you to stand by t 










FIBSY EXPLORES 


325 


return. Don’t do anything definite, but keep your 
eyes and ears open and learn anything you can.” 

“ Yes, sir, and I’ll get next to the Harp player, 
and mark my word, it’ll turn out to be Mellish.” 

“ Very well, look into it, if you like. But I can’t 
feel that the Harp-playing, whether Mellish’s work 
or not, has any real bearing on the case. Here’s an 
address that will always reach me,—I may have to go 
further than New York. Go over to Greatlarch now 
and then, to keep in touch with what they are all 
doing. Otherwise, just hold the fort till I get back.” 

“ Yes, Mr. Stone, but for the land’s sake, do 
write me or wire me if you get on to anything. For 
I’m burning alive with curiosity.” 

“ So am I, Fibsy,” said Stone. 


CHAPTER XVII 
finch’s story 


The first thing Fleming Stone did, on reaching 
New York, was to visit the two jewelers whose 
addresses were on the cards given him by Homer 
Vincent. 

As he had expected, they both denied all knowl¬ 
edge of any one named Henry Johnson, and declared 
he must have been an impostor. 

Both, also, referred to a man named Markheim, 
who had a secret process for manufacturing what 
are known as synthetic rubies. This man, they said, 
was an honest and honorable person, who made no 
claim for his goods beyond just what they were. He 
wanted to make imitation rubies and sell them for 
imitation rubies,—that was all. 

At Stone’s request they willingly gave him Mark¬ 
heim’s address, and the detective went at once to 
see him. 

He found the inventor a quiet, reserved, almost 
sullen sort of a man, but he roused to a real pitch of 
fury, when Stone told him of Henry Johnson’s 




FINCH’S STORY 


327 


errand to Greatlarch in the interests of ruby 
manufacturing. 

“ What does he mean?” Markheim cried out. 
“ He cannot make rubies! Has he my knowledge? 
Has he my secret? Why, sir, he is a terrible 
impostor! ” 

“ But other men than you may have a formula,— 
may have invented a process—” 

“ Nevertheless, he is an impostor. The fact that 
he used those two jewelers’ names, proves that! 
Those men gave me their cards as references out of 
their good will and confidence in my honesty. That’s 
all they vouched for,—my honesty and good faith. 
I told Mr. Vincent that.” 

“ Did you see Miss Vincent? ” 

“No. I saw no lady there,—only Mr. Homer 
Vincent, the owner of that great and wonderful 
house,—Greatlarch, the place is called.” 

“ Yes,—now, we must admit there’s a queer 
proposition here. How did this Mr. Johnson get 
hold of those two cards—” 

“ But any one can get jewelers’ cards! Pick 
them up from the counter, or—” 

“ But is it not strange that he selected the very 
two that you used? ” 


328 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


“ It is a coincidence, to be sure,—but they are 
first-class and representative firms,—it could be he 
would choose those—yet,—yes, it is strange. Still, 
it is so. He gave the names to Mr. Vincent—” 

“ How did Mr. Vincent treat you, Mr. Mark- 
heim? I mean, was he interested in your project? ” 
“ Not at all. He treated me most politely, even 
courteously, but he would have none of my business. 
He said his money was all invested in the sort of 
securities he liked best, and he would not think of 
making any changes. Moreover, he said he didn’t 
wish to enter into any business proposition. He said 
such things wearied him, the financial details bored 
him, and he far preferred stocks or bonds where 
there was no responsibility or work involved. But 
he was very nice about it, and after our chat he 
invited me to remain for luncheon and I did so. 
My! what a house! I never saw its like! And the 
luncheon! It was fine—without being too elaborate 
or magnificent. I enjoyed myself, I can tell you! ” 
“ You remember the butler? ” 


“ Yes, somewhat. He seemed a character in his 
way,—but his principal thought,—I may say his life- 
work, is quite evidently to smooth the path of his 


















FINCH’S STORY 


329 


master and keep it free of all thorns or obstacles to 
his comfort.” 

“ You are a good deal of a character-reader. 
Mellish is just as you describe. Now, how did you 
size up Mellish’s master? ” 

“ As a first-class fine gentleman. The real thing, 
you understand. No shoddy or nouveau riche there. 
A gentleman of the old school, scholarly, refined, 
musical, and used to the very best of belongings 
and surroundings.” 

“ And you saw no ladies at luncheon? ” 

“No; now that you mention it, I remember Mr. 
Vincent spoke of a sister and, I think, a niece, who 
were out for luncheon that day.” 

“ Yes. Well, Mr. Markheim, I am obliged to 
you for this interview. Oh, by the way, you left 
two rubies with Mr. Vincent? ” 

“ No, I did not. I had a few with me, and I 
showed them to him, but I didn’t leave any 
with him.” 

“ You didn’t forget them,—or leave them by 
mistake? ” 

“ I’m sure I did not. My rubies are of small 
worth compared to real stones, but also, they have 
considerable market value, and I certainly did not 


330 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


leave any around carelessly. I left the two cards 
only. One was a bit soiled—the other quite fresh.’’ 

“ H’m. Now, one last question. Do you know 
any one who could possibly be interested in market¬ 
ing synthetic rubies, even though he did not himself 
manufacture them? I don’t mean Henry Johnson, 
—but, say, some one whose initials are J. H. ? ” 

“ No, sir. I don’t know of any one except 
myself who is interested in such things in my way. 
My process is my own invention and I have carefully 
guarded my secret. I suppose there are others on 
the same quest but I know none by name, nor do 
I think any one has the idea that I have. And I 
shall yet succeed. I have a patron who is about 
ready to finance my work, and I mean to 
make good.” 

“ I hope you will, Mr. Markheim, I sin¬ 
cerely do.” 

As Fleming Stone went away from the inter¬ 
view, his thoughts ran swiftly over the situation. 

“It’s very strange that two men should 
approach Homer Vincent on the same subject so 
near together. It’s even more strange that they 
gave the same two references,—that they both 
gave the jewelers’ cards. Why didn’t one of them 


FINCH’S STORY 


331 


merely give the firms’ names ? But perhaps he 
did. Perhaps Johnson only mentioned them as 
well-known jewelers, and Vincent, having their 
cards, gave them up as memoranda. At any rate, 
Markheim is an honest man,—and, so far as I can 
see now, Johnson is a fraud. Yet maybe he only 
wanted to conceal his real name until he learned if 
Mr. Vincent would put his money in the business. 
Of course, these inventors with secrets keep mighty 
close about their affairs. But I still suspect Johnson 
—as he called himself—of double dealing somehow, 
and I must track him down. Guess I’ll try the 
Vandermore next.” 

The room clerk at the big hotel was not anxious 
to help in the search for an unknown name with 
initials J. H., but impressed by the hint of a police 
investigation, he turned over to Stone the lists of 
names for the dates he mentioned. 

Allowing that the man had registered a few days 
before he went up to Vermont, Fleming Stone set 
resolutely to work and found no less than six names 
during those days whose initials were J. H. 

But running down those names was fairly easy, 
though tedious, and a few hours’ time showed him 
that two were respectable citizens of Boston, one 


332 SPOOKY HOLLOW 

was a visiting Englishman and one a San Francisco 
millionaire. 

This left him with a James Harrison, of Mobile, 
Alabama, and a John Haydock, of Chicago. 

A hasty telegram discovered Mr. Harrison to be 
a clergyman attending a convention, and Stone was 
left with only one more chance for success in 
his search. 

Following a sudden flash of inspiration, he went 
to the Bureau of Missing Persons. 

To be sure, Haydock, if he were the man, need 
not be missing from his own home,—but then again, 
he might. 

The officials at the Bureau were most kind and 
helpful, and after a look at some out-of-town rec¬ 
ords, told Stone that John Haydock was a Chicago 
broker, was mysteriously missing, and the police had 
been searching for him several weeks with no iota 
of success. 

“ There’s my man! ” Stone cried, “ now, where 
is he?” 

But he said this only to his inner consciousness, 
not yet ready to let the New York or Chicago police 
in on the job. He had his own interests in the case 
to look out for, and as it was a most unusual and 











FINCH’S STORY 333 

peculiar case, he concluded to carry it a little farther 
by himself. 

Getting all possible details of Haydock, Stone 
made for a long-distance telephone and called the 
office of John Haydock, in Chicago. 

At last he was in touch with one Robert Finch, 
who said he was the chief and confidential clerk of 
John Haydock and was eager for news of him. 

“ Will you come to New York? ” Stone asked, 
“ or must I go out to Chicago? ” 

“ I’ll come right over,” Finch promised. “ I’m 
sure it’s the better plan. My, I’m excited at even 
hearing some word of Mr. Haydock! I can hardly 
wait to reach you,—but I realize you can’t say much 
over the telephone.” 

But Stone was not so elated as the Chicago man 
was. It was a hundred to one that John Haydock 
should be the man he was after. Finch had said 
Haydock was a broker and had no interest in jewels 
or precious stones. 

But Haydock’s interest might have been a secret 
one. Stone began to think now, that Haydock was 
not the ruby manufacturer, but merely the repre¬ 
sentative of an inventor. In this case, the broker 




334 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


would, naturally, keep the matter secret even from 
his confidential clerk. 

At any rate, Fleming Stone determined to try 
very hard to connect the missing Chicago man with 
the H. J. of the umbrella. 

Too impatient to wait for Finch’s word on that 
subject, Stone went to the haberdashery where the 
umbrella had been bought. 

They could not trace the purchaser, as Stone had 
not the umbrella with him, but they declared the 
monogram had not been put on by them. 

Also, as Stone described and drew a rough sketch 
of the letters they entirely agreed with him that the 
order of the two letters was J. H. and not H. J. 

This satisfied Stone that the caller at Greatlarch 
used a fictitious name, whatever else his claims to 
honesty might be. 

“ And a clever duck, too,” Stone mused; “used 
a name with the letters the other way, so his um¬ 
brella would seem to be marked right. Shows an 
ingenious mind,—and so, probably a crook mind. 
The fact that he’s a well-known Chicago broker, is 
no real guarantee of his honesty and integrity. And 
I’ve checked up some of those rash statements I 
made to Mr. Vincent and young Collins. Let me 






FINCH’S STORY 


335 








see; I said the man who called was not Henry John¬ 
son, his initials were not H. J., and his business was 
not about making synthetic rubies. 

“ I think that’s all right, so far. But I said, 
further, that he didn’t murder Miss Anne, nor steal 
her ruby. Some work to prove that! Guess I’ll 
avrait the Finch person and see where he lands 
me up.” 

But his waiting hours were fraught with wild 
and hazy conjectures. 

Where had John Hay dock hidden himself ? Why 
had he gone to Greatlarch on a secret errand? Did 
his whole ruby proposition merely cloak some other 
and greater intention? Did he go there with the 
sole purpose of killing Anne Vincent,—and if 
so, why? 

Again came the idea of his being an old lover 
of the lady,—perhaps he had sworn to kill her, be¬ 
cause of—pshaw! all too melodramatic. Miss Vin¬ 
cent, as he pictured her from all he had heard, was 
a mild and inoffensive lady, with no dark past,— 
yet, who could tell as to other people’s dark pasts? 
And the stranger had known Miss Vincent before,— 
the man Prout had disclosed that fact. 

Then, say it was the theft of the ruby that took 


336 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


him there. Ah, that was a little more plausible. 
Say he knew Miss Vincent of old, say he knew of 
the great ruby, and so, he went there, using an 
assumed name, and taking his time to compass his 
design. Probably he had no intention of murder, 
but that was necessary to save his own skin. 

Stone had said that the man who called himself 
Johnson didn’t commit the murder or steal the 
ruby,—but—the detective had learned a few things 

p 

since then. 

The next day Finch came. Stone had rooms for 
them both at the Vandermore, and as soon as the 
young man could get freshened up and eat some 
luncheon, they started in on their confab. 

“ Begin at the beginning,” asked Stone. “ Tell 
me all you know of John Hay dock, from your very 
first acquaintance.” 

“ It won’t be a very long tale,” Robert Finch 
replied, as he lighted his cigar. “ About three years 
ago, I chanced to hear, through a friend, that Mr. 
Haydock wanted a clerk. I applied for the position 
and got it. I tried my best to make good and did. 
He advanced my salary several times and looked 
upon me as his trustworthy and confidential clerk. 
I gave him my best efforts, and since his disappear- 


FINCH’S STORY 


337 


ance, I have carried on the business just as he 
always did. It’s largely routine work, or I couldn’t 
have left the office just now. But I have an excellent 
and able assistant who will look after things and I 
felt my duty was here, to find John Haydock if 
possible. Where is he? ” 

“ I’ve no idea. But we’ll come to that later. 
Tell me more about the man. Describe him, please. 
Was he dark? ” 

“ Dark? I should say he was. I never knew a 
darker white man. But that did not mean he was 
anything but white in his dealings. As honest as the 
day, just, rather than generous, and so silent and 
reserved about his own affairs as to be considered 
secretive. He never chatted with me. He talked 
over the necessary business matters, he was pleas¬ 
ant, amiable, courteous,—but never chummy or 
confidential.” 

“ All right so far. Now tell me about the day 
he went away. Where did he say he was going? ” 
“ To New York. Said he had worked hard and 
had earned a vacation. Said he would be gone 
maybe a week, but not more. Said I needn’t write 
unless something of unusual importance turned up, 


22 


338 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


which wasn’t likely, for I know as much about the 
business as he does.” 

“ What did he take for luggage ? ” 

“ I don’t know. He rarely went off on vacation 
trips, but when he did he took little luggage. Prob¬ 
ably a large suitcase and an ordinary overnight bag.” 

“ You mean a suitcase too big to cart around 
much? ” 

“ Yes, that’s what I mean. He’d check that 
somewhere and go around with a kitbag. At 
least, that’s only my supposition, but it’s probably 
about right.” 

“ And you never heard from him after he left 
you?” 

“Not one word.” 

“ Didn’t that surprise you? ” 

“ For a week or so it didn’t, and after that, you 
bet it did! Why, I’ve been more and more surprised 
each day! And surprised isn’t the word! I’m utterly 
dum founded, flabbergasted, stunned, shocked, down 
and out! I don’t know where I am at! And if you 
can give me a hint or a clue, I’ll follow it to the ends 
of the earth. Why, quite aside from my business 
acquaintance with him, I’m fond of the man. As I 
said, he’s not very friendly in a chummy way, but 


FINCH’S STORY 


339 


he’s a strong, staunch, loyal heart, and I’m grieving 
quite as much as I’m wondering.” 

“ You have no doubts then of his integrity 
of soul? ” 

“ Oh, come now, integrity of soul means a lot. 
I don’t know Mr. Haydock well enough to talk like 
that about him. But I’ve no doubt of his business 
honesty or his honorable dealing toward me. After 
that, I know too little of him to discuss him. Why, 
you’ve no idea how reticent he was as to himself,— 
personally, I mean.” 

“ Where did he come from ? Where was he 
born? ” 

“ I haven’t the slightest idea. It isn’t that I was 
afraid to ask him of such matters, but we never met 
outside of business hours and as he was not infor¬ 
matively inclined, it would have been silly for me 
to pester him with questions.” 

“ I see. And you’ve no idea whether he lived in 
Chicago all his life or—” 

“ Oh, yes, I know that much. He came to live 
in Chicago about five years ago—” 

“ From where ? ” 

“ Don’t know that, except I have a dim idea it 
was from the West.” 


“ Was he like a Westerner? ” 


340 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


“ Not specially. He looked more like a for¬ 
eigner, with his dark hair and sallow skin. But he 
was one hundred per cent. American, as far as I 
could see.” 

“ Well, details about him don’t seem to get us 
anywhere. Did you ever surmise that he had any 
secrets in his life? Any hobby he was following 
up, or any love affair? ” 

“ I never heard or saw anything to base any 
such supposition or surmise on,” Robert Finch 
replied, slowly. 

“ You’re holding back something,” Stone said, 
intuitively. 

“ No, that’s the exact truth. His only hobby 
that I can think of was writing in his diary. He 
rarely did any of it at the office, but the few times 
he did, he worked at it like a man engrossed in his 
occupation.” 

“ Where is his diary? ” 

“ He always kept it locked up—” 

“ But you know where.” 

“If I do, I shall not tell, until I have more 
reason than I have now to think I shall never see 
Mr. Haydock again. What sort of a confidential 
clerk should I be if I gave up his private papers 





FINCH’S STORY 


341 


because he went away and stayed a few weeks with¬ 
out writing to me? And, now, Mr. Stone, suppose 
you tell me what you know, and why you want to 
find him ? ” 

Robert Finch was a good-looking, earnest-faced 
young man, of a type to be found by hundreds in the 
great business offices of our cities. But he was 
rather above the average in his appearance of sin¬ 
cerity and fealty to his trust. Stone sized him up 
for a faithful custodian of his employer’s secrets if 
he knew them, or of his private papers if he 
had them. 

In as few words as possible the detective told 
Finch the story of the man who went to Greatlarch, 
and called himself Henry Johnson. He told of the 
various matters that pointed to this man’s really 
being John Haydock, and, though at first unwilling 
to believe it, Finch was finally convinced that it 
must be true. 

“ That umbrella! ” he exclaimed as Stone de¬ 
scribed it minutely; “ I know it well! I ought to, 
for I gave it to him myself, more than a year ago, 
on his birthday. I thought he’d like it,—and I 
guess he did, only—well, he seemed to think I was a 
bit presumptuous to do it. He made me feel a little 


342 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


ashamed and I never offered him a present again. 
However, he often carries it, and I think he likes it.” 

“ Would he use plain black rubber-backed 
brushes, and only moderately fine underwear?” 

“ Yes, exactly. He had money enough, and he 
was not at all parsimonious, but he was—well, I 
think, frugal is the word. He was always well 
dressed but not at all extravagant.” 

“ All the things in his kitbag were brand-new,” 
Stone vouchsafed. 

Finch smiled. “ Probably found himself at low 
tide when he started away. Didn’t like to go to a 
decent hotel with ragged things in his bag, so he 
stocked up. Yes, I have to confess it all sounds like 
Haydock, and as your people mention his dark color¬ 
ing, I can’t see any reason to doubt that it was he 
who went to Greatlarch and who introduced himself 
as Henry Johnson. Why, I cannot imagine.” 

“ You never heard him speak of any one named 
Vincent? ” 

“ Never. But I never heard him speak of any¬ 
body outside our business lists.” 

“ What did he do evenings? ” 

“ He lived in a good bachelor apartment, and 
he went into good society. He was moderate in 


FINCH’S STORY 


343 


everything. He went to the theatre and concerts 
now and then, he went to dinners and all that, but 
he wasn’t what you’d call a regular society man. I 
daresay lots of his evenings he spent quietly by 
himself. But I never asked him, of course, I’m 
judging only by my general knowledge of him and 
from such few remarks as he might casually drop 
while we talked business.” 

“ Where do you suppose he got hold of this 
ruby idea ? ” 

“ I don’t know. But if somebody put it up to 
him as a good money-making scheme and if he 
thought it was, I can imagine his going up there 
to interest a millionaire—” 

“ And using a false name? ” 

“ Possibly.” 

“ And stealing a real ruby and murdering a 
good lady? ” 

“ No—” Finch spoke cautiously, “ I can’t say I 
imagine his doing that—I can only repeat I don’t 
know the man, and I can’t say what he would or 
wouldn’t do.” 

“ Mellish, the butler,—who, by the way, is no 
common personality,—says that the man he calls 
Henry Johnson has the face of a murderer.” 


344 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


Finch smiled. “ Is there such a thing,” he asked, 
“ as the face of a murderer ? As I said, Haydock’s 
face is as dark as a Spaniard’s, but that doesn’t 
imply a dark heart. I’ve been told a murderer often- 
est has a clear bright blue eye.” 

“ I’ve been told that, too; in fact, I’m ready to 
say there is no such thing as the typical face of a 
murderer. And I believe that Mellish founded his 
suspicion on the fact of this man’s very dark effect.” 

“ How about suspecting the butler himself of the 
theft and of the murder? Is he entirely free from 
suspicion? ” 

“ I think so. There’s no clue or evidence against 
him. In fact there’s none against anybody but 
Haydock,—as I shall now call him, for I am con¬ 
vinced of his identity. But it does seem to be a 
clear case against him. He appears from nowhere, 
gives a wrong name, offers a business proposition 
which is clearly a faked one, spends the night, and 
before dawn disappears. Almost as soon as he is 
gone, a murdered woman is found, and an enormous 
gem is missing. He is never seen again and his 
whereabouts cannot be traced. What’s the answer? ” 
It looks black, conceded Finch. i( You know 


FINCH’S STORY 


345 


the Chicago police have been hunting him, but of 
course they never traced him to Vermont.” 

“ Then that proves he went there secretly. Had 
he gone with no attempt at concealment, he could 
easily have been traced. I’m sorry, Mr. Finch, but 
every detail we learn from one another seems to 
draw the net still tighter round the man who was 
your employer.” 

“ And how do you think he got away? Aside 
from the locked door,—and I cannot see how he had 
a mechanical device handy to turn that key from the 
outside, when he could not have foreseen the exact 
circumstances that would come to him,—aside from 
that, how did he get away from Hilldale, on a cold 
winter night, without hat or coat—” 

“ Oh, that he might have managed easily,—the 
getting out of Hilldale, I mean. But I don’t yet 
understand that locked door. And I do think that 
the solving of the mystery hangs on that.” 




CHAPTER XVIII 


THE TERRIBLE TRUTH 

Robert Finch willingly accepted Stone’s invi¬ 
tation to return to Greatlarch with him. The clerk 
felt that he must do all in his power to ferret out 
the mystery of his employer’s disappearance, and 
surely his way lay in the direction of Hilldale. 

On the journey up, Stone had told his companion 
of Fibsy, his young assistant, so Finch was not 
surprised to see the red-headed lad waiting for them 
on the steps of the inn. 

“ I have some finds,” announced Fibsy. “ Have 
you any, F. Stone? ” 

“ Well, yes, Terence, I think I may say I have,— 
though I haven’t yet quite made out what they 
mean.” 

After the three were settled down in Stone’s 
sitting-room, and after Stone had told the boy a 
general sum-up of what he had learned from Finch 
and from the jewelers, Fibsy took his turn at recital. 

“ Well, sir,” he announced, “ I found out who 


346 


THE TERRIBLE TRUTH 


347 


plays that Spook Harp, and as I just felt sure, 
F. Stone, it’s none other than Friend Butler.” 

“ Mellish! ” 

“ The same. He has a wireless telephone—” 

“ From the house? ” 

“ Yep, from the house, and, well, I can’t ’zackly 
explain it, but it’s this way. He connected a phono¬ 
graph with a wireless sending set in his workshop, 
and then he transmits the music to a large horn con¬ 
nected with an amplifier which is concealed in a tree 
down in that Spooky Hollow.” 

“ I understand,” Stone said, “ you needn’t try 
to explain the details of the mechanism, Fibs; I see 
how it is done. But—Mellish never contrived that 
himself! ” 

“ That’s what I think, F. S. I think His Nibs 
is at the back of it—” 

“ Mr. Vincent! Nonsense! More likely that 
chauffeur, he’s a clever mechanician. However, I’ve 
felt all along that the Wild Harp had nothing to do 
with the real mystery or the tragedy; so work on 
that, Terence, if it amuses you, but if you’ve any 
news of real importance, let’s have it.” 

“ Well, sir, I have. I found the bottle that 
belongs to that atomizer thing.” 






348 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


“ You did! Now that’s something worth while. 
Let’s see it.” 

Proudly the boy produced a small vial. It was 
half full of an antiseptic preparation, and its label 
bore the address of a Chicago chemist. 

“ That’s his,” Robert Finch said at once. 
“ That’s Mr. Haydock's—I’ve often seen him use it 
in his atomizer, during business days, when his 
catarrh troubled him. Where did it come from? ” 

Stone looked at Fibsy. 

“ Now that’s the queer part,” the boy said. “ I 
burgled Greatlarch, you see—” 

“ How? ” Stone asked. 

“ I took a chance when Mr. Vincent was playing 
on his big organ so hard he wouldn’t have noticed 
the German army if they’d marched through him! 
Yes, sir, he was just absorbed,—he was what you 
call it? improverising, yes, that’s it, improverising. 
And I slipped into his Tower room, it’s never locked, 
and I investigated that panel. You know he told 
us himself how to open that panel.” 

“ Yes, McGuire.” 

“ Well, sir, I felt sure there was more to it 
than he told us about. And there was. By pokin' 
around good and plenty, I found another little weeny 


THE TERRIBLE TRUTH 


349 


knob and I pressed it, and there was another secret 
panel,—you know—inside the first one, way at the 
back part.” 

“ And this bottle was in there? ” 

“ Oh, Lord, no, sir, that bottle wasn’t in there! 
I got my yarn mixed up, I’m that excited! No, sir, 
that bottle was in Mr. Vincent’s own little medicine 
chest in his bathroom, just a settin’ there.” 

“ In Mr. Vincent’s chest, then what has it to do 
with the Johnson man? ” 

“ Well, it’s a bottle of stuff that could belong 
to that atomizer thing. It’s a Chicago prescription, 
so maybe it ain’t Mr. Vincent’s, and it was sorta 
hidden away at the back, so I take it, it was meant 
to be concealed.” 

“ McGuire, your zeal has run away with you.” 
Fleming Stone smiled good-naturedly. “More likely, 
one of the housemaids saw this on Mr. Johnson’s 
washstand, and thinking it belonged to Mr. Vincent, 
she put it in his bathroom.” 

“ Maybe, sir,” Fibsy’s freckled face fell, “ only, 
Mr. Vincent hasn’t one snipjack of catarrhal 
trouble,—I asked Mellish,—and the other man had. 
And there’s the Chicago label.” 


350 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


“ But what are you getting at? You can’t mean 
that Mr. Vincent concealed this thing, purposely—” 
“ Well, somebody did. That Chicago bottle, 
that just fits up with the atomizer, has no right 
to be in the back part of Mr. Vincent’s 
medicine chest—” 

“ That’s so, Fibs,” and Stone looked more 
thoughtful. “ Well, what was in the back part of 
the inner secret cupboard? ” 

“ Why, in there, sir, there was nothing but a lot 
of keys and tags and such things.” 

“ What do you mean by such things? ” 

“ Well, there was a key to what is most likely a 
safety deposit box,—you know how they look. Then 
there was the key to the wine closet,—I know, for 
it was labeled. And a key to the big organ,—a 
duplicate, I suppose. And an old-fashioned watch- 
key,—oh, quite a lot of keys, mostly tagged with 
brass tags or pasteboard labels.” 

“ Any of definite importance to us? ” 

“ There was, sir. That one, though, wasn’t a 
key at all.” 

“ Go on.” 

“It was a check,—a metal trunk check, from the 
Hotel Vandermore.” 


THE TERRIBLE TRUTH 


351 


“ Well, any one can have a check from any hotel, 
can’t he? ” 

“ Oh, F. Stone, I thought it was a check Johnson 
had for his trunk, you know, and he brought it up 
here, and—somehow he—it had got hidden away in 
there,—and I sent for it—” 

“You didn’t! Fibs, you’re crazy! Whom did 
you send? ” 

“ I sent Prout, the taxi man—” 

“ Good Lord, child, I’ll never dare go off and 
leave you again! It’s probably a suitcase with Mr. 
Vincent’s dress clothes, that he keeps in New York 
to go to a party now and then. Lots of men do that.” 

But Terence McGuire was so evidently on the 
verge of tears, that Stone tried to cheer him up. 

“ Never mind, old chap,” he said, “ I’ll take the 
blame. If it’s Mr. Vincent’s property, as it must be, 
I’ll tell him I sent for it in an overzealous endeavor 
to find a clue! ” 

But Fibsy would not be comforted. He felt he 
had done a crazy, unpardonable act, and Stone knew 
he would brood over it for a time. 

“ All right, little chum,” the detective said, “ you 
sit here awhile, and think out some more bright 


3 52 SPOOKY HOLLOW 

clues to follow up, and I’ll take a run over to 
Greatlarch.” 

Though this speech sounded sarcastic to Finch, 
it comforted Fibsy, for he knew when his chief 
jollied him to that extent he was not displeased with 
him. So he sat thinking, while the other two started 
off for the Vincent home. 

First of all, Stone went for the butler, as that 
worthy admitted the pair. 

“ So you’re the Spook that plays the Harp, are 
you, Mellish?” he said, and though his tone was 
light, he spoke in earnest. 

“ Well, yes, sir,—and yet, I may say I see no 
harm in it.” 

“ No harm, of course, Mellish, but you never 
rigged up that contraption alone. Who did it for 
you? The chauffeur? ” 

“Not he! He hasn’t brains enough to play a 
jews’-harp. No, sir, I—I just did it by myself— 
to tease my old woman, you see.” 

“ And you turn it on and off as you like? ” 

“ Yes, sir,—see, here’s the thing.” 

Deeply interested, Stone and Finch followed the 
butler into a small entry, where, sure enough, was 
rigged up a rather elaborate bit of mechanism. 



THE TERRIBLE TRUTH 


353 


“ Mellish,” said Stone, sternly, “ you never did 
that yourself in this world! Moreover, only a very 
ingenious inventor could have done it. And I know 
who it was. It was Homer Vincent! He’s the man 
who rigged up the wireless and the phonograph, and 
he’s the man who makes the records on his organ! 
Too easy, Mellish,—own up.” 

“ Well, sir,—I may not be free of speech—” 

“I’ve heard you use that phrase before. I know 
now what you mean by it. You mean you’re not 
free to tell—” 

“ Yes, sir, that’s it. My master, he’s a man of 
strict orders, and I am not allowed to babble, sir.” 

“ Your master is a strange jumble of talents,” 
and Finch looked curiously at the wires and strings 
of the device. 

“ Mr. Vincent is a man of luxuriant tempera¬ 
ment, sir,” and Mellish raised his hand as if to 
ward off further remarks. “ And nothing disturbs 
him more than to have me chatter. So, if you will 
excuse me, gentlemen,—” and Mellish simply 
faded away. 

As Stone had supposed, he found Homer Vincent 
in his Tower room, and unannounced, he led Finch 

there. 

23 



354 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


“ I know you will be glad to meet this man, Mr. 
Vincent/’ he said, “ for he is the confidential clerk 
of the man we have been calling Henry Johnson, but 
whose name, as it turns out, is John Hay dock.” 

Vincent looked up interestedly. 

“ Take seats, gentlemen,” he said, pleasantly, 
and then acknowledged Stone’s more definite intro¬ 
duction of Robert Finch. 

“ John Hay dock,” he repeated, and it was plain 
to be seen from his manner that the name meant 
nothing to him. “ And why did your employer, 
my dear sir, come to me under an assumed name ? ” 

“ That’s what I’m here to find out,” returned 
Finch, not so much bluntly as determinedly. “ Sup¬ 
pose, Mr. Vincent, we all put our cards on the table, 
and see what conclusions we can come to.” 

“ By all means, Mr. Finch. Only, I may say, I 
have already put all my cards on the table. If I 
haven’t, ask any questions you like.” 

“ I’ll do that, then,” Stone said, quickly. “ Why 
did you not tell us that you were responsible for the 
music of the Wild Harp? ” 

Vincent gave a little smile. 

“ That’s true, Mr. Stone, I haven’t been quite 
frank about that. But it is a case of in for a penny, 






THE TERRIBLE TRUTH 355 

in for a pound. I rigged up that thing merely for 
the amusement and bewilderment of my friends and 
my servants. There were stories of hauntings and 

weird sounds and sights in the wild garden they 
have named Spooky Hollow, and I thought I’d just 
give them a jolt now and then. And, later, when 
it began to affect my household and family, I still 
kept on, to surprise and astound them. Mellish 
helped me, he turned on the instrument when I 
ordered him to. And he enjoyed his wife’s thrills 
at the seemingly supernatural music. 

“ Then, Mr. Stone, when tragedy came to me, 
I didn’t feel like revealing the secret of my joking 
deceit, so I let the matter rest, even using it now 
and then when I felt inclined. I am a strange man, 
Mr. Stone, many call me a freak or an eccentric. 
But, really, all I ask is to be let alone, all I wish to 
do is to enjoy myself in my own way, which never 
interferes with the doings of any one else. I am 
perhaps a slave to my creature comforts, I own I 
like luxurious living and beautiful appointments, 
but surely those are innocent hobbies if a man can 
afford them.” 

“ Entirely so,” Stone said; “now, Mr. Vincent, 




S 56 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


we are striving to find this Haydock, as we now call 
him. You never heard of John Haydock? ” 

“ Never, Mr. Stone. Who is he? ” 

“ A Chicago broker. Will you please let me see 
those cards he brought you? ” 

“ Certainly, here they are.” 

Stone scrutinized them and noted that one was 
considerably soiled, the other comparatively fresh. 

“ Mr. Vincent,” he said, “ these cards were 
given you by Mr. Markheim, who came first to see 
you about synthetic rubies. Not by Mr. Johnson, 
as he then called himself.” 

“ I daresay,” Vincent spoke disinterestedly. “ I 
don’t remember saying that Johnson left the cards 
here. I only said Johnson gave those references, and 
I gave the cards to the detectives as a memorandum 
of the jewelers’ addresses.” 

“ I see. Now, as John Haydock was not inter¬ 
ested in making rubies, so Mr. Finch tells me, and 
as he gave you a wrong name, do you not think the 
man’s motive in coming here was something other 
than ruby making? ” 

“ Good heavens, man, of course I think so. He 
came here to kill my sister, to steal her ruby, and 
perhaps to kill me, too! Of course, his ruby story 


THE TERRIBLE TRUTH 


357 


was a blind! Probably in order to induce my sister 
to exhibit her wonderful jewel.” 

“ But I think he knew you before he came, 
Mr. Vincent.” 

“ Impossible, or he would never have given the 
wrong name.” 

“ Perhaps you knew him by both names.” 

“ I never knew him by either name. He was a 
total stranger to me. They say he knew of my 
broken leg, some years since. That he knew of my 
sister and my niece. These things may all be so, but 
he never knew me, nor did I know him.” 

“Well, here we are!” and a young voice an¬ 
nounced the arrival of Fibsy, accompanied by Prout, 
the taxi man, lugging an enormous suitcase. 

They were followed by Rosemary and young 
Collins, who were anxious to learn the cause of 
the excitement. 

Prout set down the suitcase, which bore the 
initials J. H., and Finch said, at once, “ That is 
Mr. Haydock’s.” 

“ Aha,” said Fibsy, with a side wink at Stone, 
knowing full well that if the thing turned out to be 
of importance, Stone would be the first to praise him. 


358 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


“ It’s locked,” said Stone, “ call your butler, 
please, Mr. Vincent.” 

Homer Vincent pressed a button, and Stone dis¬ 
missed the taxi man, saying he would be paid for 
his time and trouble later on. 

“ We don’t want him about,” he said, “ this may 
be of importance as evidence.” 

Without asking permission, he ordered Mellish 
to bring a wrench and hammer, and in a few mo¬ 
ments the suitcase was opened. 

It appeared to be filled with the ordinary clothing 
of a plain business man, and nothing of interest was 
seen until near the bottom they found a small 
thick book. 

“ That is Mr. Haydock’s diary,” Finch said. 
“ Give it to me.” 

Without a word, Stone handed it over, but he 
gave a look at Finch that said volumes. 

In a moment Finch was absorbed in the contents. 

“ I feel,” he said, “ that though this is not 
meant for other eyes than his own, yet because of 
the stigma already cast upon him, and his inability 
to speak for himself, this diary,—some parts of it, 
at least, should be read aloud.” 


THE TERRIBLE TRUTH 


359 


“ By all means,” said Homer Vincent, seeming 
truly interested at last, “ let us hear it.” 

The portions that Finch read were written dur¬ 
ing the days just preceding Haydock’s late departure 
from Chicago for New York. 

And to the amazement of everybody, he had gone 
to New York, and from there to Hilldale, to see 
Rosemary Vincent! 

It transpired that five years ago, at the time 
of Carl Vincent’s death, Haydock had been Carl 
Vincent’s clerk. He had seen and admired Rose¬ 
mary, though she had never specially noticed him.. 
He was eight or ten years older than the girl y 
but he had never outgrown the infatuation that he 
felt for her. He determined to work hard and earn 
a fortune, and when this was accomplished, he pro¬ 
posed to go in search of Rosemary and try to win 
her for his own. 

All this he did, and the diary detailed his journey 
to New York, his outfitting himself with new cloth¬ 
ing, and his departure for Vermont. 

He had left the diary in his large suitcase,, 
checked at his hotel, and it was the check for this 
that Fibsy had found in Homer Vincent’s second 
secret panel and had sent down to the hotel by Prout. 


360 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


The advent of John Haydock was explained. 
There was no further doubt about that. For nobody 
could question the sincerity of those entries in the 
diary that told of his never-forgotten admiration 
and his hopes of yet winning sweet Rosemary 
Vincent. 

The tears came to the girl's eyes as she heard the 
simple, homely tribute to her charms. She almost 
wished she could see and thank the man who admired 
and loved her like that. 

Bryce Collins looked stupefied. Who was this 
man coming to seek his Rosemary? But even 
these thoughts were quickly supplanted by Fleming 
Stone's stern query, “ How came the check for this 
suitcase in your secret cupboard, Mr. Vincent? ” 

“ Bless my soul, I don’t know! ” and the man 
looked utterly bewildered. “ I can only suspect some 
of my servants—or some intruder—” 

“ The same one that put the Chicago man’s bot¬ 
tle of medicine in your bathroom, maybe," sug¬ 
gested Fibsy. 

“ Here’s another reference to your father, Miss 
Vincent," Finch said, as he skimmed through 
the diary. 

The item referred to some papers of Carl Vin- 


THE TERRIBLE TRUTH 361 

cent’s that Haydock had only recently found. He 
mentioned coming across an old box, that he had 
thought contained merely old check-books, but on 
turning them out, he had discovered underneath a 
packet of papers which he thought would be of inter¬ 
est to Rosemary and he proposed to take them to her. 

“ Where are they? ” asked the girl, looking won- 
deringly about. 

“ That’s what I’d like to know,” her uncle said. 
“ I, too, am interested in anything pertaining to my 
brother, Rosemary.” 

“ Yes, Uncle, of course you are. Oh, where do 
you suppose Mr. Haydock is? Uncle, the man that 
wrote that diary, never could have killed Antan! ” 

“ It doesn’t seem so, certainly,” said Vincent, 
seeming nonplussed. “ Mr. Stone, here’s a big prob¬ 
lem for you now. Can you work it out? ” 

“ I can,” cried Fibsy, “ at least, I can help. I 
can tell you where Mr. Haydock is,—probably.” 

The lad looked solemn, and Stone gazed at him 
curiously. Was he getting greater than his master? 
This was no feeling of jealousy or rivalry on the 
part of the older detective. He loved the boy, and 
took pride in all his successes. But he was afraid, 


362 SPOOKY HOLLOW 

in his eagerness and intrepidity, Fibsy might over¬ 
reach himself. 

“ He’s down in Spooky Hollow,” he said, with 
such a lugubrious face that they all felt horrified. 

“ Sure, McGuire?” asked Stone. 

“ No, sir, I ain’t quite sure,—but I don’t see 
where else he can be. First off,” he looked round 
solemnly at his hearers, “ there’s a fearful quagmire 
down in that hollow. It’s about six feet from the 
east border. And, you remember, that cigarette- 
holder was found on the east lawn.” 

“ What’s that got to do with it?” exclaimed 
Collins. 

“ Well, now,” Fibsy went on, too earnest to note 
the interruption, “ I tried tying up a stone in my 
coat, and it sunk in the place. Yesterday after dark, 
I—” he seemed to hesitate to tell of his deed,—“ I 
bought a whole pig of the butcher, as big a one as 
I could manage, and I pushed that in. It went down 
in the quicksand of that swamp in less time than 
it takes to tell it! The muck is all dark-brown and 
quivering. The approach to it is slippery and 
treacherous, but there it is. Now listen here. After 
Mr. Vincent left that man to go to bed that night 
where’d he go? He never prowled the house all 


THE TERRIBLE TRUTH 


363 


night long. He went out in the grounds and he— 
he fell into that place. As he went down, he flung 
his cigarette-holder as far as he could, as a sort 
of guide to where he met his death.” 

“ That’s why he had no hat or coat,” Stone said, 
musingly. “ Probably stepped down off the veran¬ 
dah, not meaning to stay out long.” 

“ Poor fellow! ” said Vincent, “ how horrible. 
I had no idea that pit was as bad as that! I’ve been 
intending to have it drained and dried; I shall cer¬ 
tainly do so. At least, we can avert another such 
tragedy. 

“ But, do not avoid the issue, gentlemen. Did 
not Haydock necessarily come to his death after he 
had killed my sister? ” 

“ Mr. Vincent,” Stone said, “ you know I told 
you the man who came to see you was not named 
Johnson, was not initialled H. J., did not come to 
discuss making rubies, did not kill your sister, and 
did not steal her ruby. To all of those statements 
I adhere.” 

“ You do? Then find the murderer! Find the 
man who killed my sister! Can you do that? ” 

“ I think I can,” and Stone nodded his head, 
thoughtfully. 


364 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


“ Listen, please, all of you. This murder of Miss 
Vincent is in every respect the worst I have ever 
known—the most fiendishly contrived and the most 
brutally carried out- The murderer is—Homer 
Vincent.” 

Vincent stared at the speaker, but smiled a little 
indulgently, as one might at a harmless maniac. 

“ Then,” Fibsy spoke in an awed whisper, “ then 
he’s a double-dyed dastard, for he murdered 
John Haydock! ” 

“What?” cried Finch. 

“ Yes, he did. Out there beside the quagmire 
is a piece of planking that has footprints on it. 
Those are Mr. Vincent’s prints, but Lord, there’s 
enough else to prove everything! ” 

“ There is indeed,” Stone added, “ and here is 
the motive. After you found the second secret panel, 
McGuire, I thought there might be a third. There 
is The tiniest speck of a pinhead knob, when 
pressed sideways, opens a third concealed recess, 
and in it I have found,—first, Miss Vincent’s ruby, 
now Miss Rosemary’s property, and what is even 
more valuable to her,—is this.” 

He gave her a folded paper, while Homer Vin¬ 
cent sat as if turned to stone. 



THE TERRIBLE TRUTH 


305 


“ You fiend!” he said to Stone, “you devil 
incarnate!” 

“ Keep those epithets for yourself,” the detective 
said, coolly. “ Are you going to confess? ” 

“ I am.” Homer Vincent’s voice rang out. “ I’m 
going to tell the truth for the last time in my life. 
I did kill John Hay dock, because he knew the secret 
of my niece’s birth—knew that she is the legitimate 
daughter of my brother and his wife, Mary Leslie. 
They were married twice, really. The first time, 
secretly, because her mother objected. Her little 
girl was born and baptized, also secretly, but entirely 
legally, in France, and put in an asylum there, be¬ 
cause Mary’s mother would not have forgiven them 
had she known of it. 

“ Later the mother died, and my brother and his 
wife were married again, publicly. Then, when their 
baby was born and died, they adopted from the 
asylum the little Rosemary, who was their own legiti¬ 
mate child. But, when my brother died, five years 
ago, and left me trustee of Rosemary’s fortune, I 
was tempted and fell. I took it all myself, bought 
this splendid house, and have lived here in the luxury 
I love ever since. 

“ When Havdock came,—yes, the ruby story I 



366 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 


made up entirely myself,—Haydock never spoke to 
me of rubies,—he talked only of Rosemary’s parent¬ 
age, so I, remembering the other ruby man, pre¬ 
tended Johnson came on the same business. He told 
me himself that he sent in his name as Johnson, 
for fear I would refuse to see Haydock. Lord, I 
had forgotten him entirely! Well, when he told me 
that he knew all about Rosemary, and threatened 
to expose the whole story unless I forced her to 
marry him, I couldn’t see any way to keep my 
beautiful home and to save the girl from a loveless 
marriage except by putting Haydock out of the way. 

“ It was not difficult. We strolled in the garden, 
went down to inspect Spooky Hollow, and—I 
pushed him in. He struggled like fury,—flinging 
his arms about. You know the more they struggle, 
the quicker they sink.” 

“And your sister? ” said Stone, hardly able to 
overcome his repugnance at speaking to this creature, 
scarce human he seemed. 

“ Well,” Vincent looked reminiscent. “ I didn’t 
want to—but she declared she was going to tell the 
truth about the girl. I couldn’t have that,—can’t 
you understand ”—he spoke almost pettishly—“ I 
couldn’t live elsewhere than in this house,—and of 


THE TERRIBLE TRUTH 


367 


course I couldn’t live here if Rosemary took all her 
money. I have no money at all. I spent all mine 
for this place; it is what my brother left that runs the 
establishment.” 

“How did you kill your sister?” asked Stone, 
his dark eyes fixed inexorably on Vincent’s face. 

“ That you will never know,” and, with a smile 
of diabolical cunning, Vincent slipped into his mouth 
a small object which Stone knew to be a poison tablet. 

But it was too late to stop him, and Stone 
thought pityingly of Rosemary. Perhaps that death 
for her uncle was easiest for the niece. 

And while there was yet life in the body of the 
wicked man, Stone shouted the truth at him. 

“I do know. You stabbed her yourself, after 
the door was burst open. You gave her extra sleep¬ 
ing drops to be sure of her sleeping late in the 
morning. When they couldn’t waken her, you broke 
through the door, rushed in, and bending over the 
living woman, stabbed her to the heart, and with the 
protection of her long, heavy bed-curtains, you were 
able to draw out the knife unseen. The knife you 
probably threw into the quicksand. Also, you stole 
her ruby! Am I right ? ” 

And with a smile, still horrible, even demonia- 


/ 


y * * 9J? 


368 


SPOOKY HOLLOW 



cal, the dying man murmured, “You are right.’ ’ 

He never spoke again. 

At a gesture from Stone, Bryce Collins led Rose¬ 
mary away. 

“ Don’t cry so, dearest,” he said, tenderly. “ Such 
a fiend isn’t worth your tears. Come, I will take 
you at once to my mother—oh, darling, just think, 
there is no reason, now, why she won’t receive you! ” 

“ Thank God for my birthright,” said the girl, 
reverently. “ And,” she added, looking into his 
eyes, “ for your love, dear heart.” 

“ My beloved,” he whispered, as he held her 
close, “ as you know, I wanted you with any name 
or no name, but I am glad,— glad, dear, that we can 
give our children a goodly heritage. Bless you, my 
Rosemary, my darling.” 


THE END 



















































































